AFTEE    MA1STY    DAYS: 


A    NOVEL. 


BY 


CHKISTIAN     EEID, 

AUTHOB  OF 
*'A  QUESTION  OF    HONOB,"    "  MOBTON  HOUSE,"    "  VAXEBIE  AYLMEB,"   ETO. 


NEW    YORK: 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

649   AND   551   BKOADWAT. 

1877. 


COPYRIGHT   BY 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

1877. 


CONTENTS. 


PART     I. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  WILD-FLOWERS      .                       .            .           .           .           .           .  .5 

II.  "  JEWELS  WILL  BE  BETTER  "    .                       .           .            .           .           .  9 

III.  "'Tis  BUT  A  LITTLE  FADED  FLOWER"     .            .           .            .           .  .13 

IV.  "ALTOGETHER  AN  ACCIDENT"           '.           .           .           .            .           .  17 

V.  THE  HEIRESS  OF  CEDARWOOD     ' .          ' .            .            .            .            .  .22 

VI.  UNDER  AN  APPLE-TREE           .            .           .            .           .            .           .  28 

VII.  HUGH  RECEIVES  A  COMMISSION     .......      35 

VIII.  "  So  LONG  AS  YOU   ARE   AMUSED "                          .                .                .                .               .  39 

IX.  MR.  TRAFFORD  OFFERS  ADVICE      .            .           .           .           .           .  .45 

X.  "  I   WANDERED   BY   THE   BROOKSIDE "      .                 .                 .                 .                 .                 .  60 

XI.  "WOULD  YOU  LIKE  TO  PAY  YOUR  DEBT?"          .           .           .           .  .56 

XII.  "AN  ABSOLUTE  STROKE  OF  LUCK"     ......  62 

XIII.  "WHERE  is  THE  MINIATURE?"    .......      69 

XIV.  MRS.  LATHROP  FULFILLS  A  DUTY         .....  75 
XV.  A  TRIUMPHANT  DEBUT      .            .           .           .            .            .           .  .81 

XVI.  "I   HAVE   LIVED   AND   LOVED1'    .......  88 

XVII.  "  THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DUST  LIES  DEAD  "    .            .            .            .            .  .94 

XVIII.  "I   WILL   HOLD   YOUR   HAND   BUT   AS   LONG   AS    ALL   MAY1'          .                 .                 .  100 

XIX.  "THE  THORNS  I  REAP  ARE  OF  THE  TREE  I  PLANTED"     .           .           .  .106 

XX.  EXEUNT  OMNES                                                                    .           .           .  112 


1747010 


4          .  CONTENTS. 

•        P  A  K  T     II. 

CHAPTEB  "*  PAGE 

I.  AFTER  TEN  YEARS            .            .           .  .           .                       ...     122 

II.  A  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST        .            .            .  .            .           .           .          128 

III.  AT  LAST!  .            .            .            .            .  .            .            .            .            .133 

IV.  IN  RICHMOND  PARK    .            .            .           .  .           .            .            .139 

V.   "  SHOULD  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE  BE  FORGOT  ? "  .            .            .            .            .     145 

VI.    A  VOICE   FROM   THE   PAST  .......  151 

VII.  "THE  LUXURY  OF  REGRET"         .  .            .            .           .  .            .155 

VIII.  "OLD  SENTIMENT"      .            .  •    .           .           .  .            .161 

IX.  "FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  THE  PAST"  .  .            .           ...  .            .167 

X.  AFTER  ALL,  OLD  THINGS  ARE  BEST  .            .            .            .  .           .          172 

XI.     "I  REMEMBER   WELL1'          ........       177 

XII.     "THE   LITTLE   LESS,    AND  "WHAT   "WORLDS   AWAY!"         .  -    .  .  182 

XIII.  "SCORES  ARE  SETTLED  BETWEEN  Us"  .  .  .  .  .187 

XIV.  "  I  WILL   FIND   THE  WAY  !  "     .  .  .  .  .  .  192 

XV.  THE  BLOW  FALLS  .........     198 

XVI.  "CHECKMATED — BY  FATE"     .......          203 

XVII.  "AFTER  LONG  GRIEF  AND  PAIN"  .    208 


AFTER   MANY   DATS. 


PART    I. 


CHAPTER  I. 

W  I  L  D  -  F  L  O  W  E  E  8. 

A  WOODLAND  glen  into  which  the  goft 
April  sunshine  streamed,  through  which 
a  bright  brook  babbled,  where  graceful 
trees  leaned  over  the  water,  and  flowers 
of  many  kinds  covered  the  ground  like  a 
carpet :  on  a  flat  stone  at  the  foot  of 
one  of  these  trees  a  girl  of  sixteen  sat 
dabbling  a  leafy  branch  in  the  current  of 
the  brook,  and  varying  this  amusement 
occasionally  by  leaning  over  to  look  at 
the  water,  which  gave  back  a  reflec- 
tion of  her  face  and  of  the  white  blos- 
soms of  a  hawthorn  which  arched  over- 
head. 

Near  by,  a  boy,  probably  two  years 
her  senior,  also  sat,  engaged  in  weaving, 
with  remarkably  dexterous  fingers,  a 
wreath  of  wild-flowers,  which  he  had 
evidently  gathered  in  the  course  of  a  long 
ramble. 

"  I  don't  think  there's  anything  in  the 
woods  prettier  than  this  crimson  honey- 
suckle, Amy,"  he  said.  "See  what  a 
vivid  color  it  has !  " 

"It  is  very  pretty,"  said  Amy,  glanc- 
ing up.  "  But  I  care  more  for  the  sweet- 
ness than  the  color.  Give  me  a  spray, 
Hugh." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Hugh,  "  and 
you  shall  have  the  wreath.  I  am  making 
it  for  you.  I'll  put  a  long,  trailing  spray 
behind.  There,  now  I  I  call  that  pictu- 
resque ! "  . 


He  extended  the  wreath  at  arm's- 
length,  looked  at  it  admiringly,  then  rose 
and  laid  it  on  his  companion's  head — a 
head  covered  with  unruly  masses  of  chest- 
nut hair,  in  rich,  curling  waves. 

"  It's  very  becoming  to  you !  "  he  said, 
stepping  backward  for  a  better  view,  and 
nearly  tumbling  over  an  outspread  root 
into  the  water.  "  What  a  lovely  Queen 
of  May  you'd  make,  Amy !  " 

Amy  leaned  over  and  looked  at  her- 
self in  the  clear  brook. 

"Tor  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May, 
mother,  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,' " 
she  hummed,  under  her  breath.  "It's 
likely,  isn't  it? "  she  added,  with  a  laugh 
that  had  a  slight  ring  of  bitterness. 
"Fancy  anybody  in  Edgerton  thinking 
of  Amy  Reynolds  as  Queen  of  May — ex- 
cept you,  Hugh ! " 

"  I'm  not  the  only  person  who  thinks 
you  the  prettiest  girl  in  Edgerton,"  said 
Hugh.  "  I  sometimes  wish  I  was !  Oh, 
yes,  I  do !  " — as  Amy  looked  at  him,  arch- 
ing her  brows  in  a  challenging  fashion 
she  had.  "  It's  no  pleasure  to  me  to  hear 
men  say,  '  There  goes  pretty  Amy  Rey- 
nolds.' I  always  feel  like  knocking  them 
down  —  and  I'm  not  large  enough  for 
that,"  he  ended,  ruefully. 

"I  shouldn't  advise  you  to  try  it," 
said  Amy,  and  again  her  laugh  rang  out, 
this  time  full  of  unalloyed  gayety.  "  You 
are  not  large,  Hugh,  and  the  consequences 
might  be  unpleasant.  Besides  " — with  an 
almost  Gallic  shrug — "  what  does  it  mat- 
ter? Am  I  injured  by  being  called 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


'Pretty  Amy  Reynolds?'  It's  not  re- 
spectful— but  theri  it  is  meant  to  be  com- 
plimentary." 

"And  you  like  compliments?"  said 
Hugh,  with  an  attempt  at  sarcasm. 

"  Of  course  I  like  compliments,"  an- 
swered Amy.  "I'd  prefer  them  to  be 
respectful,  but  a  person  in  my  position 
can't  expect  that." 

"  Now  you  are  talking  nonsense,"  said 
Hugh,  severely.  "A  person  in  your  po- 
sition !  As  if  you  are  not  as  good  as  any- 
body!" 

"  Am  I  ?  "  the  girl  asked ;  and  her  lip 
— too  young  a  lip  by  far  for  such  an  ex- 
pression— curled  scornfully.  "  That  de- 
pends on  what  you  mean.  I  hope  I  am 
as  honest  as  anybody;  but  I'm  poor  and 
obscure,  and  I  don't  think  that  is  exactly 
'  as  good  as  anybody.'  But  we  won't  talk 
about  such  disagreeable  things.  "What 
are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

He  had  taken  a  book  from  his  pocket 
while  she  was  speaking,  and  opened  it ; 
then  he  produced  a  pencil,  and  answered : 
"  I  am  going  to  see  if  I  can  draw  your 
head.  Sit  still,  and  look  at  the  hill  over 
there." 

This  was  apparently  not  a  new  pro- 
ceeding, for  it  excited  no  surprise.  Amy 
said,  "I'll  look  at  the  dogwood-tree," 
and  Hugh  went  to  work. 

He  sketched  rapidly,  and  with  the  ease 
of  one  who  had  acquired,  from  long  prac- 
tice, perfect  command  of  the  pencil.  If 
there  had  been  any  artist  by  to  glance 
over  his  shoulder,  he  would  have  been 
surprised  to  see  how  accurate  was  his 
eye,  how  steady  his  hand ;  and  his  sur- 
prise would  have  increased  to  amazement 
if  he  had  known  that  the  boy  was  alto- 
gether self-taught.  "With  clear,  vigorous 
strokes  he  drew  the  outlines  of  the  grace- 
ful, spirited  head,  the  long,  waving  lines 
of  the  beautiful  neck,  and  still  unformed 
but  symmetrical  figure.  He  shaded  al- 
most as  rapidly  as  he  sketched,  and  his 
pencil  was  busy  with  the  flowery  wreath 
and  rippling  hair,  when  Amy  spoke,  ab- 
ruptly : 


"  Hugh,  wouldn't  you  give  anything 
to  be  rich  ?  " 

"I  shouldn't  care  about  being  rich," 
Hugh  answered,  glancing  from  his  book 
to  his  sitter  and  his  sitter  to  his  book,  in 
true  artist-fashion.  "If  I  had  money 
enough  to  go  away  and  learn  to  be  a 
painter — that's  all  I'd  ask." 

"  That's  all  you  care  for,"  said  Amy. 
"But  I  care  for  a  hundred  things,  and 
for  all  of  them  I  want  money,  money, 
money!  There  isn't  anything  in  the 
world,  Hugh,  that  money  can't  buy  !  " 

"  You  are  mistaken  about  that,  Amy. 
If  you  were  ugly,  it  could  not  buy  you  a 
pretty  face." 

"And  what  good  is  my  pretty  face, 
when  I  never  have  a  new  dress  or  a  be- 
coming hat  from  one  year's  end  to  anoth- 
er ?  "  demanded  Amy,  aggrieved.  "  Do 
yon  know  how  I  would  look  if  I  had  on 
that  lovely  hat  Miss  "Waldron  wore  in 
church  this  morning  ?  " 

"  I've  no  doubt  you'd  look  very  pret- 
ty," replied  Hugh,  "but  it  couldn't  be 
any  more  becoming  to  you  than  your 
wreath  of  wild-flowers." 

Amy  tossed  the  head  on  which  this 
wreath  reposed.  Wild-flowers  were,  in 
her  sight,  less  than  nothing  compared  to 
a  French  hat  in  the  latest  style. 

"  That  is  absurd !  "  she  said,  trench- 
antly. "  You  are  a  boy,  and  you  don't 
know  what  you  are  talking  about.  If  I 
was  rich,  I  would  have  the  most  beauti- 
ful dresses — prettier  than  anybody  here 
wears,  except  Miss  "Waldron — and  I'd 
drive  in  a  pony-carriage,  and  papa  should 
never  give  another  music-lesson,  and  Felix 
should  go  to  Leipsic,  and  the  other  boys 
to  the  lest  schools,  and  Mariette  should 
be  dressed  like  an  angel,  and  you  should 
go  and  learn  to  be  a  painter,  Hugh." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  your  ladyship," 
said  Hugh.  "  And  after  I  had  learned, 
would  you  allow  me  the  honor  of  paint- 
ing your  portrait?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  would  wear  violet  velvet 
and  point-lace  and  pearls  for  you  to  paint 
it  in." 


WILD   FLOWEKS. 


"I  like  you  best  as  you  are,"  said 
Hugh,  "  and  I  really  don't  think  it's  right, 
Amy,  for  you  to  think  so  much  about  such 
things.  It  only  makes  you  miserable, 
since  you  can't  have  them." 

"  But  I  will  have  them !  "  cried  Amy. 
"  I  am  determined  on  that,  Hugh.  I  will 
be  rich  !  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  the  grind- 
ing life  we  lead,  of  worry  and  debt  and 
scraping  and  pinching,  and  wearing 
Avashed-out  dresses !  People  who  have 
never  known  the  want  of  money  may 
talk  of  it's  being  wrong  to  desire  it,"  the 
girl  went  on,  passionately,  "  but  I  know 
that  there  is  no  prison  on  earth  like  pov- 
erty, and  I  hate  it,  and  I  don't  mean  to 
bear  it ! " 

Hugh  looked  at  her  with  a  pair  of  very 
clear,  serene  eyes — the  only  attractive 
feature  in  his  boyish  face.  From  his  ear- 
liest childhood  he  had  known  the  life  of 
which  she  spoke ;  at  this  very  moment  he 
was  held  prisoner  by  "  those  twin-jailers 
of  the  daring  heart,  low  birth  and  iron 
fortune,"  but  it  was  not  in  his  nature  to 
rebel  with  such  bitterness  and  defiance  as 
this. 

Though  he  was  not  able  to  make  art 
the  pursuit  of  his  life,  its  exercise  was 
still  a  delight  to  him ;  and  when  he  held  a 
pencil  in  his  fingers,  he  scarcely  sighed 
even  for  the  instruction  which  at  other 
times  he  would  have  bartered  anything 
to  win.  Young  as  he  was,  he  had  been 
tossed  about  the  world  enough  to  know 
something  of  its  dangers,  and  he  felt  a 
thrill  of  fear  as  he  looked  at  the  beautiful 
face  before  him,  and  thought  of  the  pas- 
sionate, undisciplined  nature  longing  so 
madly  for  the  pleasures  and  trappings  of 
wealth. 

"You  should  not  talk  so,  Amy,"  he 
said,  reprovingly.  "  You  may  be  sure  it 
is  very  wrong.  How  can  a  girl  like  you 
make  money  ? " 

"How?"  replied  Amy.  "Why,  in 
this  way." 

Then  she  threw  her  head  slightly  back, 
curved  her  round,  white  throat,  and,  open- 
ing her  mouth,  sent  forth  such  a  clear, 


ringing  tide  of  melody,  that  a  bird  in  the 
tree  over  her  head  flew  up  with  a  startled 
cry.  Yet,  if  it  had  paused  a  moment 
longer,  it  might  have  thought  that  one 
of  its  own  companions  was  pouring  out 
those  sounds  of  the  woodland  stillness. 

Certainly  Amy  sang  with  as  little 
effort  as  a  bird,  and  Hugh  felt  that  he 
had  never  before  appreciated  the  beauty 
and  power  of  her  voice.  It  had  wonder- 
ful compass  as  well  as  exquisite  purity, 
and  was  flexible  as  a  wind-instrument. 

The  echo-song  which  she  had  begun 
to  sing  tested  this  last  quality  admirably. 
As  her  silver  notes  soared  in  the  long- 
drawn  call,  and  then  sank,  the  hill-side 
joined  in  giving  back  the  soft,  dying  echo. 

"Brava!"  said  an  unexpected  voice 
in  the  rear,  and  a  pair  of  hands  beat  en- 
thusiastically together. 

Amy  and  Hugh  turned  simultaneous- 
ly, surprised  and  a  little  startled. 

Standing  so  near,  that  but  for  the  sing- 
ing they  must  have  heard  his  approach, 
was  a  stranger,  regarding  them  with  a 
smile — a  young  man,  of  handsome  face 
and  elegant  figure. 

Seeing  how  much  he  had  startled  them, 
he  was  the  first  to  speak  : 

"I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  lifting  his 
hat  lightly.  "  I  had  no  right  to  express 
my  admiration,  but  one  does  not  often 
listen  to  such  a  voice.  Allow  me  to  say 
that  it  is  wonderful,  and  I  have  heard  all 
the  best  singers  of  the  day." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Amy. 

She  did  not  know  what  else  to  say, 
and  she  blushed  very  much  in  saying 
this. 

Hugh,  on  his  part,  looked  at  once  fierce 
and  awkward.  He  considered  the  intru- 
sion a  great  impertinence,  but  being  only 
a  "hobbledehoy,"  as  Amy  often  called 
him,  he  did  not  clearly  see  how  to  mani- 
fest this  opinion. 

"I  am  afraid  I  was  foolish  to  let  my 
enthusiasm  find  expression,"  the  stran- 
ger went  on,  with  his  glance  fixed  admir- 
ingly on  Amy's  face,  to  which  Hugh's 
wreath  was  indeed  very  becoming.  "I 


8 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


interrupted  you,  when,  if  I  had  kept  quiet, 
I  might  have  heard  another  song." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  sing  any  more," 
answered  Amy,  who  had  recovered  her 
self-possession  by  this  time.  "  Hugh  has 
heard  me  often  enough.  He  does  not  care 
about  it." 

"But  /have  not  heard  you  often," 
said  that  gentleman,  "  and  I  should  be 
very  grateful  for  another  song.  Music  is 
the  passion  of  my  life,  and  I  have  never 
heard  a  finer  voice  than  yours." 

"Don't  sing,  Amy!"  said  Hugh, 
brusquely.  "It  is  time  for  us  to  go 
home." 

The  intruder  gave  him  an  amused  and 
carelessly  supercilious  glance;  then  he 
looked  at  Amy  again,  and  she  thought 
what  very  handsome  eyes  he  had ! 

"  I  fear,"  he  said,  addressing  her, 
"  that  you  may  think  me  a  little  presum- 
ing ;  but  I  am  one  of  the  most  unconven- 
tional people  in  the  world,  and  there  is 
nothing  I  like  better  than  to  ignore  the 
starch  and  buckram  of  society  occasional- 
ly, and  make  an  acquaintance  in  a  natural, 
informal  manner.  As  a  warrant  of  my 
respectability,  allow  me  to  say  that  my 
name  is  Marchmont,  and  I  am  a  cousin 
and  guest  of  the  Lathrops,  w'th  whom, 
if  you  live  in  Edgerton,  you  are  probably 
acquainted." 

"  I  am  not  acquainted  with  them,  but 
I  know  who  they  are,"  answered  Amy, 
always  proudly  literal  in  her  statements. 
"  They  are  very  rich,  fashionable  people, 
while  I  am  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Reynolds, 
the  music;teacher.  And  this  is  Hugh 
Dinsmore,"  she  added,  with  an  instinct  of 
courtesy. 

Mr.  Marchmont  lifted  his  hat  again, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  acknowledges 
an  introduction.  "  I  am  happy  to  know 
you,  Miss  Reynolds,"  he  said.  "  Finding 
Sunday  afternoon  dull,  I  sauntered  out 
into  the  woods,  but  I  did  not  expect  to 
meet  either  Flora  or  Euterpe — much  less 
the  two  in  one.  May  I  hope  that  you 
will,  of  your  charity,  sing  another  song 
for  me  ? " 


"  Amy,"  said  Hugh,  again  breaking  in, 
"  it  is  certainly  time  for  us  to  go  home." 

In  return  for  his  solicitude,  Amy 
flashed  a  glance  of  vexation  at  him.  "  It 
is  not  time,  Hugh,  and  you  know  it ! "  she 
said,  in  an  irritated  tone. — "Did  you  like 
the  song  I  sang  before  ?  "  she  asked,  turn- 
ing to  Mr.  Marchmont. 

"  Very  much,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  I  will  sing  you  something  bet- 
ter now,"  she  said,  quietly.  Then,  fold- 
ing her  hands  and  looking  straight  up  into 
the  blue  sky,  to  his  amazement  she  began 
the  "Cujus  animam"  from  Rossini's 
"  Stabat  Mater."  Even  Hugh  forgot  his 
anger  as  he  listened,  for  it  might  have  been 
a  seraph  singing  the  divine  melody  instead 
of  the  girl  who  so  shortly  before  had 
been  talking  of  violet  velvet  and  point- 
lace.  It 'was  impossible  to  connect  any 
earthly  association  with  the  pure  notes 
that  fell  on  the  ear  like  "the  music  of 
the  spheres,"  and  seemed  capable  of  pierc- 
ing to  the  very  courts  of  heaven.  When 
the  last  strain  ceased,  Amy's  eyes  drooped 
for  the  first  time,  and  then  she  turned 
them  on  Mr.  Marchmont. 

He  had  unconsciously  advanced  nearer 
to  her,  and  his  face  was  absolutely  aglow 
with  excitement.  "  Why,  it  is  divine !  "  he 
cried.  "Good  heavens!  do  you  know 
that  you  have  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
voices  in  the  world?  " 

"I  am  glad  that  you  think  so,"  she 
answered ;  and  she  looked  (Hugh  thought) 
exultant.  A  starry  light  streamed  into 
her  dark-gray  eyes,  a  vivid  flush  of  color 
shone  on  her  peach-like  cheeks.  "  Papa 
has  taken  a  great  deal  of  pains  with  my 
voice,"  she  went  on,  "and  he  does  not 
like  me  to  sing  for  people  in  general ;  but, 
since  you  said  you  were  cultivated  musi- 
cally— which  most  people  in  Edgerton  are 
not,"  she  added,  candidly,  "  I  thought  I 
would  like  your  opinion  'of  my  singing. 
Do  you  think  that  I  can  make  a  fortune 
with  my  voice  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  he  answered,  confi- 
dently. "No  one  who  heard  you  could 
fail  to  be  sure.  There  is  gold,  and  tri- 


JEWELS   WILL  BE   BETTER.' 


nmph,  and  delight  for  multitudes  in  that 
throat  of  yours." 

She  made  him  a  pretty  little  courtesy 
— the  girl  was  lissome  and  graceful  as  a 
bayadere. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said. — "And  now 
I  will  not  detain  you  longer.  Hugh,  it  is 
time  for  us  to  go." 

"  You  must  let  me  thank  you  for  the 
great  pleasure  you  have  given  me,"  said 
Mr.  Marchmont,  eagerly. 

"If  I  have  given  you  pleasure,  you 
have  given  me  encouragement,  so  you 
are  not  all  in  my  debt,"  she  replied. 
"  But  you  may  come  to  my  debut,  if  you 
wUl." 

"  I  shall  certainly  be  there,"  he  said, 
smiling. 

As  she  moved  away,  the  spray  of 
honeysuckle  which  had  been  attached  to 
her  wreath  behind  dropped  to  the  ground, 
and  he  stooped  for  it.  "  I  shall  keep  this 
as  a  souvenir  of  my  pleasant  adventure,'" 
he  said,  "  and  on  the  night  of  your  first 
triumph  I  will  return  it  in  roses.  Thanks 
again,  and  au  revoir." 

"This  way,  Amy.  We  have  to  go  for 
the  children,"  said  Hugh,  impatiently. 


CHAPTER  II. 
"JEWELS  WILL  BE  BETTER." 

THEY  walked  on  in  silence  through 
the  woods  for  some  minutes.  Then  Amy 
said: 

"  Why  are  you  so  cross,  Hugh  ?  There 
was  no  harm  in  singing  for  the  gentleman." 

"Yes,  there  was  harm,"  answered 
Hugh.  "You  ought  to  know  better.  I 
am  sure  your  father  would  not  like  it  if 
he  knew." 

"  Then  we  won't  let  him  know,"  said 
Amy,  with  that  expressive  play  of  coun- 
tenance which  the  French  call  a  moue. 
"  Though  I  don't  really  think  he  would 
care,"  she  added.  "  Papa  is  not  a  drag- 
on." 


"But  he  is  a  man,"  said  Hugh,  who 
was  greatly  vexed,  "  and  he  knows  that  a 
young  girl  should  not  sing  to  every  stran- 
ger who  chooses  to  ask  her  to  do  so." 

"I  should  not  have  sung  to  him  if  I 
had  not  wanted  his  opinion  of  my  voice," 
said  Amy ;  "  and  I  am  so  glad  he  praised 
it.  What  was  it  he  said? — 'gold,  tri- 
umph, the  delight  of  multitudes,'  in  my 
throat  1  O  Hugh !  I  am  so  happy  I  could 
dance  and  sing  for  joy !  " 

She  clapped  her  hands  as  she  spoke, 
and,  making  a  movement  like  a  ballet- 
dancer's  pirouette,  darted  forward  sever- 
al paces,  and  then  waltzed  back. 

"  For  shame — on  Sunday !  "  said  Hugh, 
who  had  heard  numerous  admonitions 
about  "the  Sabbath-day"  in  his  early 
youth,  and  in  whose  memory  the  recol- 
lection of  such  teaching  still  lingered. 

"  Where's  the  harm  ?  "  asked  the  girl, 
gayly.  "  May  I  not  sing  as  well  as  the 
birds,  and  dance  as  well  as  the  sunbeams? 
Pouf!  as  old  Madame  Duchesne  says.  I 
am  going  to  be  rich ;  I  am  going  to  be  ad- 
mired ;  I  am  going  to  live. — Hugh,  did  you 
know  I  could  sing  so  well  ?  " 

"  I  never  had  an  idea  of  it,  Amy,"  re- 
plied Hugh,  simply. 

"And,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  said 
Amy,  stopping  short  and  looking  at  him, 
with  her  face  flushed  into  radiant  beauty, 
"I  had  no  idea  of  it  myself  until  this 
evening.  Do  you  know  what  being  in- 
spired means?  I  think  I  was  inspired 
when  I  sang  that  '  Cujut  animam."1 
Wasn^t  it  divine  ?  I  felt  as  if  I  could  do 
anything  in  the  world  with  my  voice — as 
if  I  could  send  it  straight  up  into  heaven 
if  I  chose.  I  never  had  such  a  sense 
of  power  before.  I  did  not  think  of  any- 
thing while  I  sang  except  the  delight 
of  uttering  such  thrilling  sounds.  Papa 
never  praises  my  voice,  though  I  know  he 
thinks  it  very  fine ;  but  when  I  saw  Mr. 
Marchmont's  face — and  hasn't  he  splen- 
did eyes? — then  I  knew  that  fortune 
and  fame  are  here  " — she  touched  her 
throat. 

"And  will  your  father  consent  to  your 


10 


AFTER  MANY  DATS. 


singing  in  public  ? "  asked  Hugh,  his  face 
growing  grave. 

The  girl  stared  at  him. 

"  Why,  that  is  what  he  means  me  to 
do!"  she  said.  "That  is  why  he  is  so 
careful  of  my  voice — cultivating  it,  but 
never  allowing  me  to  strain  it.  He  would 
not  let  me  sing  in  the  church-choir, 
though  I  have  been  so  anxious  to  do 
it ;  not  that  I  cared  about  the  choir,  but 
I  wanted  to  test  my  voice  in  a  large  build- 
ing. I  am  satisfied  now,  however.  I 
know  that  I  can  fill  any  theatre  in  the 
world." 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  glad,"' said 
Hugh,  "  but  I'm  not,  and  I  can't  help  it. 
I  hope  you  are  mistaken — I  hope  your 
voice  is  not  as  good  as  you  think.  I 
should  be  glad  of  anything  that  kept  you 
from  going  on  the  stage." 

This  was  more  than  Amy  could  bear. 
Her  eyes  flashed  with  anger  instead  of 
delight,  and  she  fairly  stamped  her  foot. 

"How  dare  you! — oh,  how  dare  you 
hope  such  a  cruel  thing!  "  she  cried.  "I 
didn't  think  you  could  be  so  mean! 
When  there  is  but  one  chance  of  relief 
from  this  horrible  life  of  poverty — one 
chance  to  free  others  as  well  as  to  escape 
myself — you  grudge  me  that!  0  Hugh, 
I  didn't  think  you  could !  " 

Hugh  felt  stricken  with  remorse,  yet 
unable  to  retract  what  he  had  uttered. 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  was  rich  and 
older !  "  he  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"Wishes  are  of  no  good,"  said  Amy, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  had  given  them 
a  fair  trial  and  found  them  useless.  "  But 
if  you  were  as  rich  as  an  emperor,  and  a 
hundred  years  old,  you  could  not  keep 
me  from  going  on  the  stage.  Gold,  tri- 
umph, the  delight  of  multitudes — oh,  I 
wish  I  was  going  to  make  my  debut  to- 
night !  You  should  paint  my  portrait  in 
the  costume  of  the  character  in  which  I 
achieved  my  first  triumph." 

"Not  I,"  said  Hugh,  grimly.  "I 
should  paint  you,  with  your  wreath  of 
wild-flowers,  as  my  Amy — not  the  pub- 
lic's." 


"But  I  am  not  your  Amy,  sir,"  she 
said,  laughing ;  and  then  she  began  sing- 
ing again,  trilling  her  birdlike  notes  for 
very  birdlike  joy. 

The  sun  was  nearly  down  when  they 
paused  a  few  minutes  later  on  the  crest 
of  a  hill  which  they  had  been  gradual- 
ly ascending.  Immediately  below  lay  a 
green  valley,  through  the  midst  of  which 
wound  a  stream — 

"  A  sedgy  brook  whereby  the  red  kine  meet 
And  wade  to  drink  their  fill," 

and  over  the  fallen  tree  which  made  a 
rustic  bridge  across  this  a  party  of  chil- 
dren were  trooping  in  single  file. 

"  There  they  are !  "  said  Amy,  waving 
her  handkerchief. 

"  What  a  beautiful  scene !  "  said  Hugh, 
in  the  tone  of  one  thrilled  suddenly. 
"  Look,  Amy — look !  " 

Amy  looked  in  the  direction  which  he 
indicated,  but  it  is  doubtful  whether  she 
understood  what  had  stirred  him.  She, 
to  whom  one  kind  of  harmony  was  so  in- 
telligible, scarcely  comprehended  the  har- 
mony of  another  kind  which  filled  the 
fair  landscape,  sweeping  westward  to  the 
golden  sky. 

But  to  Hugh  it  was  even  more  divine 
than  the  "  Cvjus  animam."  There  was  a 
pearly  mist  over  everything  like  the  haze 
of  Indian  summer,  only  it  was  more  deli- 
cate, and  had  in  it  all  the  buoyancy  of 
spring,  the  indefinable  sense  of  awaken- 
ing life — of  resurrection  instead  of  death. 
Near  at  hand  the  softly-swelling  hills  and 
lovely  meadows  were  covered  with  em- 
erald; afar  the  fringe  of  distant  forest 
melted  into  azure  softness.  There  were 
clouds  of  snowy  blossoms  in  the  fields, 
and  every  breeze  was  laden  with  fra- 
grance. The  sun  was  sinking  behind  the 
mist  which  near  the  horizon  veiled  his 
glory  so  that  it  could  be  gazed  upon  fear- 
lessly. Filmy  vapors  of  rose  and  gold 
floated  above,  and  high  over  these  the 
new  moon  rode — a  slender  silver  boat. 

"  And  I  shall  not  see  it  again  for  anoth- 
er week !  "  said  the  boy,  in  a  tone  of  keen 


JEWELS  WILL  BE   BETTER.' 


11 


pain.  "  Oh,  how  can  people  live  in  the 
world  and  think  so  little  of  its  beauty ! 
Amy,  I  could  paint  that  sky.  I  know — I 
know  I  could !  " 

"  Just  as  I  know  that  I  could  fill  an 
opera-house  with  my  voice,"  said  Amy, 
arching  her  throat.  "  When  I  am  prima 
donna  assoluta,  you  shall  paint  as  many 
sunsets  as  you  like,  Hugh." 

"Do  you  think  I  would  take  your 
money?"  asked  Hugh,  flushing.  "We 
may  laugh  about  such  things,  but  you 
mustn't  believe  for  a  minute  that  I  would 
really  do  it." 

"  Then  you  would  be  very  ungracious," 
said  Amy,  indignantly. 

The  embryo  quarrel  was  stopped  here 
by  the  advent  of  the  children,  who  came 
running  and  laughing  up  the  hill,  laden 
with  flowers  and  blossoming  boughs. 
There  were  seven  of  them,  ranging  in 
age  from  fourteen  to  six  years.  Four  of 
these  were  Amy's  brothers  and  sister ; 
the  other  three  were  the  children  of  Mrs. 
Crenshaw,  a  kind  woman  who  kept  a 
boarding-house  next  door  to  the  Rey- 
noldses,  and  made  no  claim  to  social 
position.  If  she  had  done  so,  Willie, 
Fanny,  and  Hetty  Crenshaw  would  prob- 
ably have  been  pacing  decorously  to  Sun- 
day-school in  their  best  bib  and  tucker, 
instead  of  running  wild,  like  young  fawns, 
in  the  lovely  spring  woods  with  "  those 
Reynolds  children." 

Of  the  last  there  were  three  boys  and 
one  girl,  besides  Amy ;  Felix,  the  eldest 
of  the  boys,  had  been  named  after  Men- 
delssohn, and  justified  his  name  by  the 
precocity  of  his  musical  genius.  He  had 
played  from  the  time  that  his  tiny  fingers 
could  touch  the  keys,  and  now,  at  four- 
teen, his  father — a  musician  himself  of 
rare  power — declared  that  he  could  teach 
him  no  more.  "  He  knows  as  much  of 
the  science  of  harmony  as  I  do,"  Mr.  Rey- 
nolds would  say  ;  "  he  will  make  a  great 
musician,  if  I  can  send  him  to  Germany." 
That  if,  however,  was  gigantic.  On  this 
April  evening,  the  path  by  which  Felix 
was  to  go  to  Germany  had  not  opened  yet. 


The  other  two  boys,  Oliver  and  Er- 
nest, were  more  ordinary  ;  they,  too,  pos- 
sessed in  a  measure  the  musical  talent  of 
the  family,  but  it  was  largely  dominated 
by  the  tastes  and  habits  of  common  boy- 
hood. And  youngest  of  all  was  pretty 
baby  Mariette,  with  a  face  like  an  opening 
rose-bud,  great  eyes  of  turquoise-blue,  and 
a  shower  of  glittering  ringlets  falling  to 
her  waist. 

It  may  be  imagined  how  gayly — yet, 
certainly,  how  harmlessly — this  group  of 
children  laughed  and  talked  as  they  took 
their  way  homeward  through  the  gloam- 
ing, so  tenderly  purple,  so  delightfully 
fragrant.  Amy  and  Hugh  led  the  pro- 
cession— and  a  quaint  Bohemian  pair  they 
were :  the  future  prima  donna  assoluta 
was  habited  in  a  muslin  dress  which  many 
washings  had  very  much  faded  and  slight- 
ly shrunken;  her  straw  hat  was  swung 
on  her  arm  like  a  basket,  while  Hugh's 
wreath  still  crowned  her  graceful  head. 
So  pretty  and  so  shabby  was  she,  that  she 
might  be  described  in  general  terms  as 
looking  like  a  vagabond  Qrffeen  of  May. 
Her  companion,  though  not  less  shabby, 
was  decidedly  less  picturesque;  he  was 
simply  an  undersized  boy,  plain  of  face  and 
awkward  of  movement,  whose  clothes, 
though  clean,  were  much  worn  and  also 
a  little  outgrown. 

So  long  as  they  were  in  the  country, 
these  trifles  of  costume  mattered  little, 
and  it  was  only  when  they  approached 
the  outskirts  of  the  town  that  Amy  began 
to  wear  that  air  of  defiance  which  soon 
comes  to  social  outlaws. 

The  road  which  they  were  following 
left  the  sweet  wildness  of  the  open 
country  and  led  first  between  grass-lots 
and  cultivated  fields,  then  by  a  stone-wall 
of  considerable  length,  over  the  top  of 
which  evergreens  drooped,  showing  that 
grounds  of  large  extent  and  probable 
beauty  lay  within. 

"  If  I  were  rich  I  would  not  build  a 
wall  around  my  grounds  to  deprive  people 
of  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  them,"  said 
Hugh. 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


"  If  you  were  rich  you  would  not  care 
how  people  who  had  no  grounds  felt  ahout 
it,"  said  Amy.  "  It  is  to  keep  us  from 
looking  at  their  lawns  and  gardens  that 
they  huild  such  walls." 

"Isn't  this  where  General  "Waldron 
lives?"  asked  Oliver.  "He's  the  old 
gentleman  who  has  such  a  big  white  mus- 
tache. I  like  his  looks." 

"It's  a  pretty  place — we  can  get  a 
glimpse  through  the  gate,"  said  Felix, 
stopping  before  this  portal,  which  was  of 
iron.  "  I  see  a  lawn  and  part  of  a  foun- 
tain, and  the  corner  of  a  greenhouse — " 

"  Felix — the  rest  of  you,  come  on !  " 
cried  Amy,  sharply. 

All  the  small  faces  which  had  been 
pressed  against  the  iron  bars  turned  quick- 
ly. The  reason  of  Arny's  sharpness  was 
at  once  apparent.  An  open  carriage, 
drawn  by  two  dark-bay  horses,  was  rapid- 
ly approaching. 

"  It's  the  "Waldron  carriage  !  "  said 
Ernest,  darting  away. 

The  rest  followed  hastily,  and  the  dig- 
nity of  their*  retreat  was  further  marred 
by  Hetty  Crenshaw  tripping  over  a  stone, 
and  having  to  be  lifted,  dusted,  and  led 
away  weeping. 

Amy  walked  in  front  with  a  flushed 
face.  She  would  have  scorned  to  peep 
through  the  Waldron  gate  herself,  but  she 
felt  compromised  by  the  conduct  of  her 
cohort ;  and  when  a  head,  adorned  by  the 
hat  of  which  she  had  spoken  admiringly, 
nodded  more  kindly  than  patronizingly 
from  the  carriage,  she  responded  with  a 
salutation  stiff  enough  to  have  rebuked 
aspiring  presumption  rather  than  ac- 
knowledge superior  condescension. 

"  What  an  extraordinary-looking  cav- 
alcade ! "  said  another  lady,  putting  up 
an  eye-glass.  "For  mercy's  sake,  who 
are  they?  Oh,  the  Keynolds  children! 
I  hope  they  haven't  been  rifling  your 
flower-garden." 

"Hardly,"  Miss  Waldron  laughed. 
"  All  those  spoils  came  from  the  woods. 
Did  you  notice  how  pretty  Amy  looked 
with  that  wreath  of  flowers  on  her  head  ? " 


"  I  thought  she  looked  very  peculiar, 
but  I  didn't  notice  exactly  what  was  the 
matter.  What  a  theatrical  idea,  to  walk 
through  the  streets  decked  in  such  fashion 
— on  Sunday  evening,  too !  " 

The  carriage  rolled  in,  the  gates 
clashed  together,  and  the  Reynolds  chil- 
dren dropped  from  the  conversation  and 
minds  of  its  occupants. 

"That  was  Miss  Lathrop  with  Miss 
Waldron,"  said  Hugh;  and  Amy  an- 
swered, "Was  it?  I  did  not  observe." 

No  doubt  there  were  numbers  of  other 
people  to  echo  Miss  Lathrop's  opinion 
with  regard  to  Amy's  appearance,  before 
she  reached  home.  She  passed  group 
after  group  of  well-dressed,  Sunday-man- 
nered folk,  with  the  defiant  expression 
deepening  somewhat  on  her  face,  but  no 
other  token  of  heeding  their  curious 
glances.  Yet  the  uncharitable  only  said, 
"There  go  those  outlandish  Reynolds 
children ! "  while  the  kindly  remarked 
with  a  sigh,  "  How  that  poor  girl  needs 
a  mother ! " 

When  that  girl  thus  commiserated 
reached  the  house  where  the  Reynoldses 
as  a  family  lived — or,  to  speak  more  cor- 
rectly, where  they  scrambled  through 
existence  in  a.hap-hazard  manner — she 
walked  into  a  small  low-ceiled  parlor, 
which  held  but  one  prominent  article  of 
furniture,  and  that  a  piano.  At  this  pi- 
ano a  gaunt  man,  with  hair  and  beard 
dashed  with  gray,  a  sharp  nose,  and  a 
pair  of  pathetic  eyes,  sat  playing  a  strain 
from  one  of  Mozart's  masses  with  a  touch 
that  brought  out  all  the  divine  melody 
lurking  in  the  harmony.  He  nodded  and 
smiled  when  the  children  came  in,  but 
did  not  cease  playing.  Felix  walked  for- 
ward and  slipped  his  arm  round  his  neck. 
He  was  his  father's  pride  and  favorite, 
and  had  as  many  caressing  ways  as  a  girl. 

"  You  ought  to  have  come  with  us, 
papa,"  he  said.  "  The  country  is  so  love- 
ly now.  A  walk  would  have  helped  you 
to  rest." 

"  I  walk  enough  on  six  daysj"  an- 
swered Mr.  Reynolds ;  "on  the  seventh 


"'TIS   BUT  A   LITTLE  FADED   FLOWER.' 


13 


I  like  to  stay  quietly  with  the  piano.  But 
you  have  brought  back  flowers  enough, 
my  boy." 

"Yes;  see,  papa,  how  pretty  and 
sweet ! "  cried  the  others,  thronging 
round. 

Meanwhile  Amy  went  up  to  a  small 
mirror  that  held  the  last  glow  of  sunset 
light  in  its  depth,  and  looked  at  her  re- 
flection—  the  color-flushed  cheeks,  the 
dark-gray  eyes  shining  under  long  lashes, 
the  rich  masses  of  curling  hair,  and  the 
wreath  of  wild-flowers  crowning  the  fair 
picture.  Then  she  turned  to  Hugh  with 
a  smile  that  broke  up  all  the  gravity  of 
her  face. 

"  The  wreath  is  very  becoming,"  she 
said,  "  and  you  have  crowned  me  for  vic- 
tory. But  jewels  will  be  better  than 
flowers." 


CHAPTER  III. 

"'TIS   BUT   A   LITTLE   FADED   FLOWED." 

AMY  had  been  right  in  characterizing 
the  Lathrops  as  "very  rich  and  fashion- 
able people  " — according  to  the  standard 
of  riches  and  fashion  in  Edgerton.  They 
lived  in  a  handsome  house,  with  appoint- 
ments every  way  suggestive  of  wealth, 
were  gay  and  hospitable,  and  therefore 
popular.  Mr.  Lathrop  and  his  sons  were 
"in  business"  on  a  large  scale.  Mrs. 
Lathrop  and  her  daughters  were  also  in 
business,  if  the  duty  of  leading  society 
could  properly  come  under  that  head. 
That  it  is  very  often  far  more  of  a  busi- 
ness than  a  pleasure,  no  one  can  doubt 
who  has  ever  had  the  opportunity  of  ob- 
serving at  close  quarters  the  life  of  a  fash- 
ionable woman.  But  to  some  natures 
there  is  a  compensation  for  all  attendant 
labor  and  cost  in  the  mere  possession  of 
a  power;  and  that  Mrs.  Lathrop  was  one 
of  these  people,  was  patent  to  the  dullest 
perception. 

In  all  details  of  life  she  was  what  is 
generally  known  as  "a  managing  wom- 


an." Her  household  was  organized  like 
a  police  force ;  yet  her  rule  was  never 
oppressive,  for  she  knew  exactly  where 
authority  ended  and  tyranny  began.  Al- 
ways suave,  somewhat  diplomatic,  with  a 
fine  presence  and  a  pair  of  large,  white 
hands  capable  of  holding  the  threads  of 
many  different  interests,  she  was  emi- 
nently fitted  to  administer  the  social  af- 
fairs of  Edgerton  and  preserve  society 
from  the  chaos  which  always  attends  the 
want  of  a  recognized  leader. 

Her  daughters  gave  promise  of  follow- 
ing the  maternal  footsteps.  Two  were 
in  society — not  at  all  pretty,  but  noted 
for  their  style,  and,  from  their  position, 
always  sure  of  receiving  as  much  atten- 
tion as  if  they  had  been  beauties.  A 
younger  daughter  was  not  yet  emanci- 
pated from  the  school-room.  One  of  the 
two  sons  had  taken  unto  himself  a  wife, 
with  the  hearty  approval  of  his  parents, 
since  the  lady — who  was  not  an  Edger- 
tonian — was  the  fortunate  possessor  of  a 
considerable  fortune  in  her  own  right. 

"  If  Edward  will  only  marry  as  judi- 
ciously as  Paul,  I  shall  be  truly  grateful  to 
Providence,"  said  Mrs.  Lathrop,  devoutly. 
But  Edward,  the  younger  son,  was  rather 
given  to  flirting  with  portionless  girls, 
and  sometimes  disturbed  his  mother's 
equanimity  by  declaring  that  he  thought 
it  his  duty  to  bring  a  pretty  wife  into  the 
family,  since  Paul  had  married  one  whose 
personal  appearance  no  man  could  con- 
scientiously commend. 

Of  Mr.  Lathrop,  the  head  of  the 
household,  there  is  little  to  be  said  fur- 
ther than  that  he  was  his  wife's  most  loyal 
admirer,  and,  though  in  no  sense  a  hen- 
pecked husband,  her  opinion  had  more 
weight  with  him  than  that  of  any  one 
else.  In  business  matters  he  was  keen, 
shrewd,  and  inclined  to  be  hard,  though 
always  just.  Socially  he  was  genial,  fond 
of  display,  and  lavish  with  the  means 
necessary  to  this  end.  Seen  in  his  own 
house,  a  more  agreeable  host — notwith- 
standing the  drawback  of  a  little  pom- 
posity— never  wore  a  white  waistcoat, 


14 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


or  boasted  one  of  those  bald,  glistening 
heads  which  impart  such  a  benevolent 
aspect  to  the  countenance. 

Under  the  shelter  of  the  Lathrop  roof 
Mr.  Brian  Marchmont,  nephew  of  Mrs. 
Lathrop,  had  been  sojourning  nearly  a 
week,  on  that  Sunday  afternoon  when  he 
met  Amy  Keynolds  in  the  April  woods. 
This  young  gentleman  was  one  of  those 
who  have  the  reputation  of  "brilliant 
abilities,"  and  there  was  a  vague,  general 
expectation  in  the  minds  of  all  who  knew 
him  that  he  would  one  day  greatly  dis- 
tinguish himself.  Of  the  abilities  there 
could  be  no  question,  and  the  expectation 
of  distinction  was  stronger  in  the  mind 
of  Marchmont  himself  than  in  that  of  any 
one  else.  He  was  ambitious,  and  had 
already  decided  by  what  steps  he  would 
mount  to  the  height  he  desired.  They 
were  not  to  be  very  difficult  steps,  for 
there  was  an  element  of  epicureanism  in 
the  young  man's  character  which,  under 
certain  circumstances,  might  mar  his  plan 
of  life.  He  had  no  fear  of  such  an  event, 
however.  If  belief  in  one's  own  power 
is  a  first  necessity  for  achieving  worldly 
success,  Marchmont  was  ready  with  that 
requisite.  He  had  so  far  in  life  vaulted 
lightly  over  all  obstacles,  and  lifted  his 
head  so  high  above  the  heads  of  those 
surrounding  him,  that  he  could  scarcely 
be  blamed  for  self-confidence. 

At  the  present  time  the  errand  on 
which  he  had  come  to  Edgerton  was  well 
known.  In  the  city  where  he  lived  he 
had,  during  the  past  winter,  met  Miss 
"Waldron,  the  only  child  and  heiress  of 
her  father,  a  man  of  large  wealth.  "With 
Marchmont,  as  with  a  great  many  other 
aspiring  men,  the  first  step  which  he  pro- 
posed to  himself  on  his  journey  to  the 
Temple  of  Fame  was  the  step  of  marrying 
a  fortune. 

"I  have,  comparatively  speaking,  no 
money,  and  if  I  waste  my  life  in  working 
for  that,  it  will  be  too  late  after  I  have 
gained  it  to  devote  my  higher  powers  to 
the  objects  I  propose ;  so  it  follows  that  I 
must  marry  a  rich  woman !  " 


This  was  what  he  said  to  himself,  and 
to  the  few  friends  who  were  admitted  to 
intimacy  with  him.  These  friends,  one 
and  all,  applauded  his  resolution.  It  is 
well  known,  however,  that  the  seekers 
after  rich  women  are,  in  point  of  number, 
altogether  out  of  proportion  to  those  de- 
sirable objects,  so  that  unless  a  man  has 
unusual  advantages  of  person  or  manner, 
his  chance  of  drawing  a  prize  is  exceed- 
ingly small.  These  advantages  Brian 
Marchmont  possessed.  No  one  could 
deny  that  he  was  well-born,  well-bred, 
and  above  the  ordinary  rank  and  file  of 
mankind  in  point  of  appearance. 

Although  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  was 
in  a  measure  attached  to  him,  and  cer- 
tainly proud  of  the  abilities  which  he  was 
supposed  to  possess,  she  would  have  wel- 
comed him  more  cordially  if  he  had  come 
to  Edgerton  for  any  other  purpose  than 
the  one  which  brought  him.  Not  that 
she  did  not  consider  his  object  a  good  and 
altogether  praiseworthy  one ;  but  it  had 
been  her  cherished  plan  that  her  son 
should  marry  Miss  "Waldron,  and  though 
she  was  too  sensible  a  woman  not  to 
recognize  that  all  overtures  to  this  end 
had  been  unmistakably  rebuffed  by  the 
young  lady,  she  had,  nevertheless,  a  sore 
feeling  in  seeing  the  prize  grasped  be- 
fore her  eyes  by  the  hand  of  her  own 
nephew. 

It  was  true,  the  prize  had  not  yet  been 
grasped ;  but  that  Marchmont's  chance  of 
success  was  better  than  that  of  any  other 
suitor  of  the  heiress,  all  who  knew  any- 
thing about  the  matter  were  agreed. 

On  the  Sunday  evening  already  re- 
corded, Mr.  Marchmont  made  his  appear- 
ance at  the  Lathrop  tea-table  just  as  the 
church-bells  were  pealing  out  over  the 
town  on  the  soft,  flower-scented  dusk. 

"  Why,  Brian,  we  have  been  wonder- 
ing what  had  become  of  you,"  said  Mr. 
Lathrop,  looking  up.  "  What  have  you 
been  doing  with  yourself  all  the  after- 
noon?" 

"  I  saw  you  asleep  in  the  hammock 
after  dinner,"  said  Edward  Lathrop ; 


TI3   BUT  A  LITTLE  FADED   FLOWER." 


15 


"  but  when  I  looked  into  it  an  hour  or  so 
later,  you  had  vanished." 

"  I  felt  an  inclination  to  take  a  stroll," 
said  Marchmont;  "therefore  I  left  the 
hammock  and  wandered  off.  The  woods 
are  so  delightful  that  I  rambled  farther 
than  I  intended,  lost  my  way,  and  hence 
my  late  appearance." 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  missed 
by  strolling  off!  "  cried  Florence,  the 
second  daughter.  "  Beatrix  Waldron  has 
been  here  this  afternoon,  and  Anna  has 
gone  home  with  her." 

"  She  would  hardly  have  been  likely 
to  take  me  instead  of  Anna — would  she  ?  " 
asked  Marchmont,  quietly. 

"  Hardly ;  but  I  thought  it  would 
grieve  you  to  miss  one  glimpse  of  your 
divinity." 

"  And  so  you  gave  me  the  afflicting 
intelligence  at  once.  Thanks  for  the  con- 
sideration— but  I  don't  find  my  appetite 
impaired. — Eunice,  my  dear,  may  I  ask 
what  attracts  your  attention  ?  " 

Eunice,  a  pale  little  maiden  of  fifteen, 
who  sat  opposite  him,  blushed,  and  point- 
ed to  his  button-hole. 

"  I  was  looking  at  that  spray  of  crim- 
son honeysuckle,  Cousin  Brian,"  she  an- 
swered. "It  is  pretty.  Where  did  you 
get  it  ?  " 

"I  found  it  in  the  woods,"  he  replied. 
"  Is  it  uncommon?  Then,  have  it,  pray." 

He  tossed  it  lightly  across  the  table, 
and  Eunice  smiled  her  thanks. 

"  I  have  not  seen  any  in  a  long  time," 
she  said.  "  I  would  get  some  and  plant 
it  in  the  garden  if  I  knew  where  to  find 
it." 

But  her  cousin  did  not  volunteer  to 
show  her  where  it  was  to  be  found.  He 
glanced  round  the  table,  and,  seeing  that 
every  one  else  had  ceased  eating,  he  said : 

"I  beg  that  you  will  not  let  me  detain 
you,  Aunt  Caroline.  I  should  not  have 
been  such  a  late-comer  if  I  had  remem- 
bered that  your  hour  was  probably  early 
on  Sunday." 

"In  order  to  allow  the  servants,  as 
well  as  ourselves,  to  go  to  church,"  said 


Mrs.  Lathrop.  ""We  are  a  little  later 
than  usual  on  account  of  having  waited 
some  time  for  you,  and,  since  you  are 
kind  enough  to  excuse  us,  I  think  it 
would  be  better,  Florence,  if  we  put  on 
our  bonnets  at  once." 

Florence  rose,  and,  with  a  rustle  of 
silk,  the  ladies  left  the  room.  Marchmont 
looked  at  Edward  Lathrop,  and  said, 
gravely : 

"Do  you  go  to  church  twice  a  day, 
Ned?" 

"  Not  unless  there  is  some  very  partic- 
ular inducement,"  answered  that  gentle- 
man, "  and  not  even  then  when  the  ther- 
mometer stands  above  seventy-five  de- 
grees. I  simply  escort  my  mother  and 
the  girls  to  the  church-door.  That  is 
what  we  will  do  to-night,  if  you  have  no 
objection,  after  which  we  will  come  back 
and  smoke  a  cigar  in  peace  and  coolness." 

A  few  minutes  later  Mrs.  Lathrop  and 
her  daughter  entered  the  drawing-room, 
whither  the  gentlemen  had  adjourned. 
Both  were  dressed  beautifully,  and  the 
elder  lady  was  buttoning  her  gloves. 

"Eunice  has  a  headache,  so  I  have  al- 
lowed her  to  remain  at  home,"  she  said. 
— "Are  you  coming  with  us,  my  dear?  " 

"Not  to-night,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Lathrop. 

He  always  said,  "  Not  to-night,"  as  if 
he  might  be  tempted  to  go  on  some  future 
night ;  but,  so  far,  that  occasion  had  not 
arrived,  and  Mrs.  Lathrop  was  wise,  and 
never  asked  when  it  would  arrive. 

The  young  men  escorted  the  ladies  to 
the  church-door,  but  declined  an  invita- 
tion to  enter  the  edifice,  where  vivid  gas- 
light streamed  on  crimson-carpeted  aisles 
and  crimson-cushioned  seats.  Then  they 
strolled  slowly  back  through  the  semi- 
darkness  of  the  streets,  past  gardens  from 
which  the  fragrance  of  roses  and  syringa, 
jasmine  and  honeysuckle,  filled  the  air. 

"This  is  rather  better  than  blinding 
gaslight  and  simmering  heat,"  said  Ed- 
ward Lathrop,  as  they  regained  the  house 
which  they  had  left  so  shortly  before. 
"  Shall  we  sit  on  the  piazza,  and  take  a 


16 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


smoke  ?  My  father  and  Eunice  seem  to 
be  very  well  entertained." 

Marchmont  glanced  through  the  draw- 
ing-room window,  and  smiled  at  the  scene 
within. 

Mr.  Lathrop,  leaning  back  in  a  large 
chair,  with  a  newspaper  open  on  his  knee, 
was  dozing  placidly,  the  light  from  the 
chandelier  falling  with  brilliant  effect  on 
the  bald  top  of  his  head;  while,  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  apartment,  Eunice  was 
seated  at  the  large,  carved  piano,  playing 
a  simple  accompaniment  as  she  sang,  in  a 
childish  voice,  "There  is  a  land  of  pure 
delight." 

From  the  force  of  contrast,  the  -voice 
and  song  reminded  Marchmont  of  the  sil- 
ver tones  that  he  had  heard  soar  aloft 
in  "  Cujus  animam "  so  short  a  time  be- 
fore. 

"  That  girl  could  not  have  been  much 
older  than  Eunice,"  he  thought,  as  he 
dropped  the  lace  curtain  and  returned  to 
his  companion. 

"  Do  you  know  anybody  of  the  name 
of  Eeynolds  in  Edgerton,  Ned  ?  "  he  asked, 
after  they  were  settled  in  their  chairs  with 
lighted  cigars. 

"  I  know  Eunice's  music-teacher,"  an- 
swered LathrCp.  "Do  you  mean  him? 
— a  gaunt  fellow,  who  plays  the  organ  in 
the  church  we  left  a  minute  ago." 

"  I  thought  there  was  an  uncommon 
hand  on  that  organ  this  morning,"  said 
Marchmont.  "And  does  his  daughter  sing 
there?" 

"His  daughter — pretty  little  Amy ?  I 
don't  think  so.  But  how  do  you  chance 
to  know  anything  about  her? " 

Marchmont  laughed. 

"I  met  her  this  afternoon  in  the 
woods,"  he  said.  "  It  was  an  odd  kind  of 
adventure,  and  I  did  not  mention  it  to  my 
aunt,  because  I  fancy  she  does  not  approve 
of  unconventional  ways  and  people." 

"You  might  stake  a  good  deal  on 
that  without  much  fear  of  losing,"  said 
Lathrop;  "and  I  don't  think  she  has  a 
very  good  opinion  of  pretty  Amy  either." 

"Why  not?" 


"If  you  have  seen  the  girl,  you  might 
tell  why  not.  The  madre  is  great  on 
making  people  walk  a  chalk -line,  accord- 
ing to  their  station  in  life,  which  Amy — 
who  is  an  out-and-out  little  Bohemian, 
and  wild  as  a  gypsy — will  on  no  account 
think  of  doing.  They  have  had  one  or 
two  encounters — one  was  on  the  subject 
of  attending  Sunday-school,  I  believe — 
and  Amy  always  came  off  with  flying  col- 
ors. Hence  she  is  regarded  in  the  light 
of  a  most  reprehensible  young  person,  you 
understand.  But  she  is  amazingly  pretty 
— and  piquant  as  pretty." 

"  Yes,  she  is  very  pretty,"  assented 
Marchmont — at  that  moment  he  seemed 
to  see  again  the  winsome  face  with  its 
wild-flower  crown — "but  she  has  some- 
thing better  than  her  face.  Do  you  know 
that  she  sings  like  an  angel  —  pshaw ! 
what  do  we  know  about  angels  ? — like  a 
prima  donna? " 

"  Not  I,"  and  it  was  very  evident,  even 
in  the  dim  light,  that  Lathrop  stared. 
"How  the  deuce  did  you  find  it  out? 
You  must  have  progressed  in  your  ac- 
quaintance very  rapidly — if  you  never  saw 
her  before  this  afternoon." 

"I  never  saw  her  before  this  after- 
noon, and  I  came  upon  her  most  unex- 
pectedly then.  It  was  out  in  the  woods 
— she  was  sitting  in  a  glen  with  no  other 
companion  than  an  awkward  boy,  singing 
a  Tyrolean  echo-song  which  I  have  often 
heard  on  the  stage,  but  never  better  ren- 
dered. You  may  be  sure  I  was  aston- 
ished, and  I  could  not  help  encoring  when 
the  song  ended.  She  was  somewhat  em- 
barrassed at  first,  but,  when  I  introduced 
myself,  she  was  good  enough  to  say  she 
knew  who  the  Lathrops  were,  and  then 
she  sang  the  '  Cujus  animam '  from  Ros- 
sini's '  Stabat  Mater,'  and  sang  it  divinely ! 
She  has  not  only  one  of  the  finest  voices 
I  ever  heard,  but  it  has  been  remarkably 
well  cultivated." 

"  Reynolds  is  an  excellent  musician," 
said  Lathrop ;  "  at  least,  he  has  that  rep- 
utation. I  don't  know  much  about  such 
things  myself.  And  so  little  Amy  said 


"ALTOGETHER  AN   ACCIDENT." 


17 


that  'she  knew  who  the  Lathrops  were? ' 
Upon  my  honor,  that's  the  best  joke  I've 
heard  in  an  age !  I  don't  really  think  I 
can  keep  it  from  the  madre!  " 

"  It's  no  joke  at  all,"  said  Marchmont, 
"  and  I  hope  yon  won't  think  of  trying  to 
make  one  out  of  it.  The  girl  meant  no 
impertinence.  She  said,  quite  proudly : 
4  They  are  very  rich,  fashionable  people, 
and  I  am  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Eeynolds, 
the  music-teacher.'  She's  an  amusing  lit- 
tle witch.  By-the-by,  have  you  any  idea 
who  was  the  boy  with  her?  She  men- 
tioned his  name,  but  I  have  forgotten  it." 

"I  have  not  the  least  idea,"  replied 
Lathrop.  4'  My  acquaintance  with  her  is 
of  the  slightest  possible  description,  and 
her  friends  are  quite  unknown  to  me. 
Eeynolds  has  several  sons.  It  was  prob- 
ably one  of  them." 

Marchmont  knew  better,  but  he  said 
no  more  of  Amy  or  her  companion.  Per- 
haps the  subject  dropped  from  Ms 
thoughts.  Certainly  when  he  spoke 
again  it  was  of  something  very  different; 
and  so  they  talked  and  smoked  until  the 
gate  at  the  foot  of  the  lawn  opened  and 
closed,  and  voices  and  steps  approached 
the  house. 

"There  come  my  mother  and  Flor- 
ence, with  somebody  in  attendance,"  said 
Lathrop,  rising. 

The  somebody  proved  to  be  a  young 
man  of  smooth  face  and  immaculate  dress, 
who  was  thought  to  have  evangelical  lean- 
ings, and  known  to  entertain  matrimo- 
nial intentions  toward  the  second  Miss 
Lathrop. 

This  young  lady  had  no  objection  to 
a  mild  flirtation  after  having  performed 
her  duty  by  going  to  church  in  the  most 
exemplary  manner;  so  she  retired  with 
her  captive  to  the  end  of  the  drawing- 
room,  while  Eunice  was  at  once  dis- 
patched by  her  mother  to  bed. 

"  Close  the  piano,  Edward,"  she  add- 
ed. "It  is  very  injurious  to  an  instru- 
ment to  stand  open." 

Edward  sauntered  obediently  to  the 
piano  and  closed  it.  Then  he  returned, 
2 


holding  in  his  fingers  the  faded  spray  of 
honeysuckle  which  had  already  changed 
owners  twice. 

"  I  believe  this  is  yours,  Brian,"  he 
said,  extending  it  with  a  smile  to  his  cous- 
in. "  Eunice  left  it  by  the  keyboard,  but 
I  thought  I  would  bring  it  to  you,  since 
you  might  like  to  preserve-  it." 

Marchmont  took  the  spray  and  tossed 
it  carelessly  into  the  empty  fireplace. 

"Faded  flowers  are  useless  things," 
he  said.  "  When  they  have  served  their 
purpose,  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  throw 
them  away." 


CHAPTER  IV. 
44  ALTOGETIIEH  AX  ACCIDENT." 

"I  AM  going  to  drive  to  Cedarwood 
for  Anna  this  morning,  Brian.  Will  you 
come  with  me? " 

It  was  Florence  Lathrop  who  said 
this,  pausing  in  the  hall  the  next  day,  af- 
ter breakfast. 

Her  cousin,  who  was  in  the  act  of 
lighting  a  cigar,  looked  up  at  once. 

44  Certainly  I  will,  with  pleasure,"  he 
replied.  "  When  do  you  mean  to  start?  " 

4'In  an  hour  or  two— not  before. 
They  never  breakfast  early  at  Cedarwood. 
There  are  no  business-men  there!" 

41  It  is  too  bad  that  there  should  be 
some  here  to  rouse  you  for  anything  so 
barbarous  as  a  nine-o'clock  breakfast," 
said  her  brother.  "  If  you  are  not  going 
for  an  hour  or  two,  you  can  call  for  Brian 
at  the  commission-house.  He  is  going  to 
walk  down-town  with  me." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  young  lady, 
sailing  languidly  up-etairs. 

Mr.  Lathrop  emerged  from  the  break- 
fast-room at  the  moment,  drew  on  his 
gloves,  exchanged  his  benevolent  air  for 
a  decided  one,  and  said,  "  We  are  ten  min- 
utes behind  time,"  and  walked  quickly  out 
of  the  front-door. 

The  younger  men  followed,  and  the 
three  took  their  way  together  into  the 


18 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


business  portion  of  the  town,  filling  the 
fresh  air,  as  they  walked,  with  the  triple 
smoke  of  their  cigars. 

"  Lathrop  &  Sons "  were  engaged  in 
a  large  wholesale  commission  business; 
and  as  the  two  members  of  the  firm,  ac- 
companied by  their  idle  relative,  entered 
the  great,  dingy  warehouse,  filled  with 
bales  of  cotton,  hogsheads  of  tobacco, 
grain,  and  other  products,  it  chanced  that 
the  first  person  they  met  was  an  under- 
sized boy  of  seventeen  or  eighteen,  whose 
face  had  an  oddly  familiar  look  to  March- 
mont,  though  for  a  moment  he  was  puz- 
zled to  think  when  or  where  he  had  seen 
it. 

"  Dinsmore,  I  shall  want  you  in  a  min- 
ute," said  Mr.  Lathrop,  in  his  most  brisk 
tones.  "  Come  to  the  counting-room." 

Dinsmore !  Marchmont  said  nothing, 
but  he  thought  to  himself  that  this  was 
the  awkward  boy  who  had  been  Amy 
Keynolds's  companion  on  the  afternoon 
before,  and  who  had  glared  at  him  with 
such  amusing  indignation.  For  that  mat- 
ter, his  eyes  had  by  no  means  an  amiable 
expression  now,  as  they  rested  an  in- 
stant on  the  well-dressed  young  gentle- 
man, before  he  turned  and  followed  Mr. 
Lathrop. 

An  hour  or  two  later,  Marchmont  was 
reading  the  morning  papers  in  his  cous- 
in's counting-room  when  one  of  the  clerks 
appeared  with  the  intelligence  that  Miss 
Lathrop  was  at  the  door  waiting  for  him. 

He  rose  with  alacrity.  Something  in 
the  nature  of  his  surroundings  oppressed 
him  with  a  sense  of  weight  and  repug- 
nance. 

"  How  can  you  muster  philosophy 
enough  to  think  of  spending  the  best  part 
of  your  life  in  such  a  place  as  this  ?  "  he 
could  not  refrain  from  saying  to  Edward 
Lathrop ;  but  the  latter  only  laughed. 

"The  prospect  does  not  overwhelm 
me,"  he  said,  "though  I  grant  you  it 
would  be  pleasanter  to  live  at  Cedarwood 
on  ten  thousand  a  year.  But  everybody 
isn't  a  Prince  Charming,  or  a  Prince  For- 
tunate either." 


This  good-natured  sarcasm  effectually 
silenced  Marchmont.  He  knew  that  if 
there  had  been  the  faintest  chance  of  se- 
curing Miss  Waldron  and  Cedarwood,  his 
cousin  would  have  grasped  that  chance  as 
eagerly  as  himself;  but,  nevertheless,  he 
could  not  help  feeling  that  the  labor 
which  was  so  distasteful  to  his  fastidious, 
pleasure-loving  nature,  was,  to  say  the 
least,  far  more  honorable  than  the  gentle- 
manly profession  of  fortune-hunting. 

These  uncomfortable  feelings  were 
evanescent,  however.  It  was  with  a 
sense  of  relief  that  he  emerged  into  the 
sunshine  and  entered  the  waiting  carriage, 
where  Miss  Lathrop  sat  with  a  handker- 
chief at  her  nose ;  for  there  were  several 
tons  of  fertilizers  in  the  neighborhood,  the 
odor  of  which  was  strikingly  unlike  that 
of  Araby  the  Blest. 

"  What  a  disagreeable  part  of  the  town 
this  is!  "  she  said.  "I  always  dislike  to 
come  down  here ;  and  how  papa  and  the 
boys  can  be  content  to  spend  their  days 
in  that  horrid  place,  I  don't  understand." 

It  occurred  to  Marchmont  that  this 
was  rather  ungracious  on  the  part  of  one 
whose  carriage  and  horses,  silk  dress  and 
lace-covered  parasol,  were  all  the  direct 
proceeds  of  the  "horrid  place"  in  ques- 
tion; but  he  only  said,  "It  strikes  me 
rather  in  that  light,  but  I  suppose  I  am 
one  of  the  drones  of  the  world — and  you 
know  they  are  not  a  very  estimable 
class." 

"But  you  don't  mean  to  be  always  a 
drone,"  said  she,  smiling;  for  they  had 
left  the  fertilizers  behind,  and  she  was 
now  able  to  smile  again. 

Marchmont  thought  this  very  true. 
He  did  not  mean  to  be  always  a  drone. 
On  the  contrary,  he  meant  to  do  work 
more  important  as  well  as  more  agreeable 
than  selling  cotton  and  tobacco  on  com- 
mission. He  did  not  remember  that  such 
an  idea  is  one  of  the  most  common  and 
shallow  devices  of  self-love.  There  are 
few  of  us  who  do  not  excuse  our  present 
shortcomings  by  reflecting  on  the  great 
things  which  we  mean  to  do  in  the  future 


;  ALTOGETHER  AN  ACCIDENT.' 


— until  the  future  has  become  the  past, 
when  we  think  what  great  things  we 
might  have  done  had  circumstances  only 
been  more  favorable — Fate  kinder,  the 
world  more  appreciative. 

Neither  of  these  two  butterflies  of 
prosperity  felt  inclined  to  complain  of 
Fate  or  the  world  this  morning,  however. 
The  carriage  rolled  as  if  on  velvet,  the 
wheels  and  harness  glittered  in  the  sun- 
shine, the  glory  of  spring  was  all  about 
them,  birds  were  singing  in  the  delicate 
leafage  of  the  trees,  flowers  were  bloom- 
ing in  all  directions,  windows  were  open, 
light  costumes  were  out  in  force.  Miss 
Lathrop,  who  was  bowing  now  and  then 
from  under  her  parasol  to  passing  ac- 
quaintances, suddenly  said,  with  the  air 
of  one  whom  a  sudden  recollection 
strikes  : 

"  Andrew  "  (to  the.  coachman),  "  drive 
to  Mrs.  Orenshaw's  boarding-house. — Bri- 
an, will  you  excuse  me  if  I  detain  you  for 
a  few  minutes  ?  Mamma  asked  me  to  call 
and  see  how  a  sick  lady,  who  is  boarding 
there,  is  to-day.  She  is  a  stranger  in  Ed- 
gerton,  but  belongs  to  quite  nice  people, 
so,  of  course,  we  are  anxious  to  pay  her 
every  attention." 

"  A  modern  rendition  of  the  good  Sa- 
maritan," said  Brian,  smiling.  "  My  time 
is  at  your  disposal  altogether ;  don't  hesi- 
tate to  detain  me  as  long  as  you  like.  I 
could  be  happy  on  the  door-step  to-day, 
basking  like  a  Neapolitan  in  the  sun- 
shine." 

The  carriage,  as  he  spoke,  turned  into 
a  street  where  the  buildings,  though  re- 
spectable, were  by  no  means  imposing, 
but  where  there  were  many  shade-trees 
and  a  few  good  residences.  The  largest 
of  these  was  a  house  which  opened  on  the 
street,  and  had  a  neglected  flower-garden 
at  the  side.  Here  the  carriage  stopped, 
and  Marchmont,  springing  out,  assisted  his 
cousin  to  alight.  Then,  having  rung  the 
door-bell  and  seen  her  admitted,  he  re- 
turned to  the  pavement  and  sauntered 
under  the  flickering  shade  of  the  elms  by 
the  low  garden-fence. 


However  neglected,  all  gardens  in 
which  there  are  flowers  must  be  pretty  in 
April,  and  this  garden  was  no  exception 
to  the  rule.  The  syringa-bushes  were 
covered  with  white,  fragrant  blossoms ; 
bees  were  humming  over  the  honey- 
suckle ;  there  was  a  large  bed  where  lil- 
ies-of-the-valley  lifted  their  delicate  white 
bells  amid  broad  green  leaves;  and  the 
untrimmed  rose-bushes  were  full  of  blos- 
soms. 

Bordering  the  fence,  and  on  a  level 
with  it,  was  a  luxuriant  Enonymus  hedge, 
from  the  other  side  of  which  Marchmont 
heard  the  voices  of  two  invisible  and  prob- 
ably liliputian  personages. 

"The  flowers  won't  stay  on,  Hetty," 
said  one.  "  You  go  and  ask  your  mother 
for  some  more  string." 

"Mother  said  I  mustn't  come  and 
bother  her  any  more,"  answered  another 
small  but  positive  voice.  "  You  go  and 
ask  Mr.  Trafford  for  some." 

"Mr.  Trafford's  gone  to  walk — I  saw 
him  go,"  said  Number  One.  "But  I'll 
go  and  ask  Clara  for  some." 

"Be  sure  and  make  haste  back,"  said 
Number  Two. 

Following  this  came  the  patter  of  small 
feet,  a  gate  in  the  fence  suddenly  swung 
open,  and  a  child  of  not  more  than  seven 
years,  with  a  glittering  mane  of  yellow 
curls,  sprang  out  on  the  sidewalk.  Her 
companion's  voice  followed  her,  saying : 

"  Shut  the  gate,  Mariette,  or  the  pigs 
will  get  in." 

Mariette,  who  was  darting  away  with- 
out this  necessary  precaution,  turned 
back,  but  Marchmont  closed  the  gate, 
and  then  said,  with  a  smile : 

"  Are  you  Alice  from  Wonderland  ? 
You  look  like  her." 

"  No,  I'm  not ;  but  I  know  all  about 
her,"  she  answered,  quickly,  breaking  in- 
to a  laugh,  and  gazing  up  at  him  with 
fearless  eyes  of  myosotis  blue.  "  Mr. 
Trafford  gave  mo  the  book — she  went  to 
"Wonderland,  and  through  the  looking- 
glass,  too." 

"  Did  she  ?"  said  Marchmont.  "  I  never 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


followed  her  that  far.  But  are  you  cer- 
tain you  are  not  she  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  replied,  with  another 
laugh.  "  I  am  Mariette  Reynolds." 

"  Reynolds !  "  repeated  Marchmont. 
He  did  not  say  to  himself,  "  C'est  la  fata- 
lite"  but  he  certainly  thought  that  Fate, 
or  something  else,  was  determined  to  keep 
the  pretty  songstress  of  the  woods  in  his 
mind.  "Have  you  a  sister  named  Amy, 
and  does  she  sing?  "  he  went  on,  after  a 
moment,  as  they  walked  along  side  by 
side. 

"  Of  course  I  have,"  answered  Mari- 
ette, surprised  that  any  one  should  ask 
such  a  question.  "  Do  you  know  my  sister 
Amy?  Mr.  Trafford  says  she  sings  like 
a — I've  forgotten  the  name  exactly,  but 
some  kind  of  a  bird." 

"Who  the  deuce  is  Mr.  Trafford?" 
Marchmont  felt  inclined  to  ask,  but  he 
restrained  himself,  and  only  said:  "I  am 
afraid  that  your  sister  Amy  would  not 
allow  me  to  say  that  I  know  her,  but  I 
have  heard  her  sing.  "Where  do  you 
live?" 

"  Here,"  said  Mariette,  indicating  a 
house  adjoining  the  garden  which  they 
were  passing. 

It  was  a  small,  old-fashioned  dwelling, 
opening  immediately  on  the  street,  with 
high,  narrow  windows,  and  a  generally 
shabby  and  uncomfortable  aspect.  It 
spoke  so  plainly  of  poverty — that  poverty 
which  manages  to  keep  bread-and-butter 
on  its  table,  but  has  not  a  sixpence  to 
spare  for  the  adorning  graces  of  life — 
that  Marchmont's  fastidious  epicurean- 
ism felt  a  thrill  of  much  the  same  disgust 
which  he  had  experienced  in  the  ware- 
house of  Lathrop  &  Sons. 

His  interest  in  the  embryo  prima  donna 
began  to  abate,  but  nevertheless  he  walked 
on  by  Mariette's  side,  thinking  that  he 
would  turn  as  soon  as  he  reached  the 
door  of  the  house  and  saw  the  little 
maiden  within  it. 

But,  if  not  fatality,  what  was  it  that 
brought  Amy  to  the  window  of  the  little 
parlor,  and  framed  the  piquant  loveliness 


of  her  face  between  the  chintz  curtains, 
to  startle  Marchmont,  like  a  gleam  of  rich 
color  in  a  gray  landscape  ? 

He  stopped  short,  with  an  exclama- 
tion, and  lifted  his  hat. 

"  Miss  Reynolds  !  "  he  said.  "  How 
fortunate  I  am !  I  did  not  hope  to  meet 
you  again  so  soon !  " 

Amy  was  not  much  surprised — a  fact 
which  was  very  natural,  since  the  win- 
dows on  the  side  of  the  house  command- 
ed an  excellent  view  of  Mrs.  Crenshaw's 
garden  and  the  street  along  which  March- 
mont had  been  sauntering. 

She  had  been  engaged  in  dusting,  with 
a  towel  tied  round  her  head,  when  she 
first  saw  him,  and  she  had  flushed  rose- 
red,  cast  the  towel  into  a  dark  corner, 
darted  to  the  small  mirror,  given  a  few 
hurried  touches  to  her  hair — which  was 
always  ready  to  curl,  and  never  prettier 
than  when  left  to  its  own  devices — and 
then  established  herself  at  the  window, 
with  an  open  music-book  in  her  lap. 

At  his  salutation  the  long  laches  lifted 
from  her  mischievous  gray  eyes. 

" O  Mr.  Marchmont!  "  she  said,  with 
a  slight  start.  "How  do  you  do  this 
morning? — and  where  did  you  find  Mari- 
ette?" 

"Mariette  found  me"  he  replied,  "in 
a  very  badly-bored  condition,  dawdling 
along  the  street  yonder.  I  am  waiting 
for  my  cousin,  who  has  gone  into  the 
house  of  your  neighbor  to  pay  a  visit." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Amy.  "  I  was  wonder- 
ing what  could  have  brought  you  into 
this  part  of  the  town." 

"  My  presence  here  is  altogether  an 
accident,"  he  said;  "but  within  the  last 
two  minutes  it  has  begun  to  assume  the 
appearance  of  a  very  lucky  accident.  I 
dreamed  of  sirens  all  last  night,  and  you 
can  tell,  I  am  sure,  who  was  to  blame  for 
that," 

"  How  can  1  tell  ?  "  asked  Amy,  inno- 
cently. "  Perhaps  you  went  to  church, 
and  the  choir — " 

He  interrupted  her  by  a  laugh. 

"  Pray  don't  be  so  severe  on  the  sirens 


"ALTOGETHER  AN  ACCIDENT.' 


21 


as  to  liken  them — or  to  suppose  that  / 
would  liken  them — to  any  well-inten- 
tioned band  of  amateur  squallers.  Be- 
sides, you  know  better — you  know  that 
sirens  don't  sing  in  village  choirs,  but 
they  are  to  be  met  sometimes  in  wooded 
glens  on  April  afternoons." 

"  Happy  sirens !  "  said  Amy.  with  a 
soft  little  sigh.  "  They  knew  their  songs 
intuitively,  and  were  never  obliged  to 
learn  to  sing  by  notei  How  I  hate  notes ! " 
she  added,  glancing  down  at  the  page  of 
score  in  her  lap. 

"Drudgery  is  always  disagreeable," 
said  Marchmont — and  lie  glanced  down  at 
the  score  also — "  but  especially  when 
connected  with  harmony.  What  have 
you  there  ? " 

"A  song  papa  has  just  given  me  to 
learn.  When  he  gives  me  a  song  for  the 
first  time,  he  always  locks  the  piano,  so 
that  I  have  no  opportunity  to  learn  the 
notes  by  the  keys.  Then  I  have  to  sing 
it  for  him,  and  then  he  teaches  me  how 
to  sing  it." 

"  All  of  which  is  very  essential  to  pre- 
pare the  foundation  of  your  future  great 
ness,"  said  the  listener,  smiling.     "  And 
'  have  you  sung  the  song  yet  for  papa  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  but  I  must  to-night.'' 

"  I  suppose  I  dare  not  be  bold  enough 
to  ask  you  to  sing  it  for  me  now  ?  " 

"  What,  here  ?  "  The  gray  eyes  opened 
to  their  widest  extent,  while  the  pretty 
lips  laughed.  "  That  is  impossible ;  every- 
body along  the  street  would  hear — and 
see  me !  " 

"  But,  if  you  were  hospitable  enough 
to  allow  me  to  come  in — " 

"You  are  not  in  earnest,"  she  said. 
"How  could  you  tell  when  your  cousin 
finished  paying  her  visit,  if  you  came  in 
to  hear  me  sing?  " 

"  That  is  very  true,"  he  replied ;  "  at 
present  it  is  unfortunately  impossible  for 
me  to  have  that  pleasure ;  but  if  I  return 
this  afternoon,  will  you  admit  me  then, 
and  let  me  hear  your  lesson  before  Mon- 
sieur votre  pere  does  so  ?  " 

Amy  hesitated.     The  prospect  was  al- 


luring— how  alluring,  those  of  older  years 
and  different  rearing  can  scarcely  un- 
derstand— but  an  instinct  of  propriety 
warned  even  this  "  out-and-out  Bohe- 
mian," as  Edward  Lathrop  called  her, 
against  it.  Seeing  her  hesitation,  March- 
mont would  not  have  been  a  man  if  he 
had  not  instantly  conceived  an  added  de- 
sire to  carry  his  point. 

"  You  did  me  the  honor  to  remark, 
yesterday  afternoon,  that  you  sang  for 
me  because  I  seemed  to  be  musically  cul- 
tivated," he  said  •  "  will  not  the  same 
reason  plead  for  me  now?  My  culture 
is  not  very  great,  so  far  as  any  personal 
acquirement  is  concerned,  but  I  have  heard 
all  the  best  singers  of  the  day,  and  I  can 
give  you  a  few  needful  hints,  perhaps, 
with  regard  to  your  method." 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  any  one  sing 
this?"  she  asked,  holding  the  score  tow- 
ard him. 

"  Certainly  I  have,"  he  answered, 
glancing  at  it  (and  whether  the  assent 
was  strictly  true  or  not,  Mr.  March- 
mont's  conscience  alone  could  tell) ;  "  I 
heard  Carlotta  Patti  sing  it  at  a  concert 
in—" 

He  paused  abruptly,  not  because  his 
memory  or  his  invention  failed,  but  be- 
cause at  that  moment  Miss  Florence  La- 
throp's  gray  silk  dress  and  lace-covered 
parasol  appeared  on  the  steps  of  the  Cren- 
shaw  house. 

"  I  see  my  cousin  has  come  out,  and  I 
must  not  detain  her,"  he  said.  "  I  will 
call  this  afternoon — at  four,  shall  I  say? 
— and  I  trust  you  will  not  refuse  me  ad- 
mittance." 

He  lifted  his  hat,  gave  one  last  glance 
out  of  the  eyes  which  Amy  admired,  and 
walked  away.  Miss  Lathrop,  who,  like 
her  sister,  was  a  little  near-sighted,  per- 
ceived him  first  as  he  was  advancing  along 
the  sidewalk  by  the  garden-fence. 

"I  am  afraid  your  patience  has  been 
quite  exhausted,  Brian,"  she  said,  when  he 
approached  and  handed  her  into  the  car- 
riage. "Mrs.  Ripley — poor  woman! — 
is  very  unwell  this  morning,  and  she  kept 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


me  a  long  time  listening  to  a  detailed  ac- 
count of  all  that  she  suffers.  One  should 
be  patient  with  that  habit  of  invalids,  I 
suppose.  It  is  all  the  pleasure  they  have. 
— Drive  to  Cedarwood,  now,  Andrew." 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE   HEIBESS   OF   CEDAEWOOD. 

WHEN  the  carriage  rolled  into  the 
gates  through  which  the  Reynolds  chil- 
dren gazed  so  wistfully  the  evening  be- 
fore, its  occupants  saw  two  feminine 
ligures,  escorted  by  a  masculine  one, 
crossing  the  lawn  toward  the  house. 

This  house  was  a  large,  handsome 
building,  in  what  architectural  books  call 
the  "Norman  villa"  style,  evidently  of 
late  erection,  and  containing  all  modern 
improvements  and  conveniences.  The 
cedars,  from  which  its  name  was  derived, 
stood  in  a  group  on  the  close-shorn  lawn, 
immediately  in  front  of  the  drawing-room 
windows— three  splendid  patriarchs,  un 
der  the  shade  of  which  a  rustic  seat  was 
placed.  The  grounds  were  of  great'  ex- 
tent, and,  on  this  April  morning,  full  of 
the  brightest  beauty  of  the  spring. 

"Yonder  are  Anna  and  Beatrix  and 
General  ^Waldron,"  said  Miss  Lathrop, 
elevating  one  of  those  glasses  which  the 
French  call  a  pince-nez,  and  regarding  the 
three  figures.  "No  doubt  the  general 
has  been  showing  some  of  his  landscape- 
gardening.  He  is  always  having  trees 
moved,  or  hedges  set  out,  or  something 
of  the  kind  done.  It  is  a  great  bore  to 
be  taken  to  see  them." 

"  Why  has  General  Waldron  been  al- 
lowed to  remain  unmarried  so  long  ? " 
asked  Marchmont,  looking  at  that  gen- 
tleman, who,  with  his  erect  figure  and 
strongly-marked  face,  was  manifestly  a 
grand  seigneur,  though  he  wore  a  loose 
linen  coat  and  a  broad  palmetto  hat.  "  I 
am  surprised  that  no  kind  lady  has  taken 
compassion  on  his  widowed  condition." 


Miss  Lathrop  laughed.  "  It  would  be 
impossible  to  enumerate  the  number  of 
ladies  who  have  desired  to  console  him," 
she  said ;  "but  he  has  so  stoutly  declined 
to  be  consoled,  that  they  have  at  last  aban- 
doned him  in  despair. — Good-morning  !  " 
she  added,  bowing  to  the  group  of  pedes- 
trians whom  they  were  now  approaching. 
"I  see  that  the  charming  day  has  drawn 
you  all  out  to  enjoy  it." 

"Yes,"  said  the  general,  lifting  his 
broad  hat  with  the  air  of  a  cavalier ;  "  I 
have  just  taken  Miss  Lathrop  and  my 
daughter  to  see  some  improvements  which 
I  have  made  in  the  grounds.  Are  you 
interested  in  landscape-gardening,  Mr. 
Marchmont  ? " 

"  Very  much,  indeed,"  answered 
Marchmont,  promptly.  The  carriage  had 
by  this  time  drawn  up  before  the  portico, 
which  was  the  principal  entrance  to  the 
house,  and  he  was  assisting  his  cousin  to 
the  ground  as  he  spoke.  When  he  turned, 
Miss  Waldron  shook  her  parasol  at  him. 

"  Take  care !  "  she  said ;  "  if  you  tell 
papa  that,  he  will  carry  you  off  at  once  to 
see  his  improvements." 

"I  should  enjoy  seeing  them,"  March- 
mont replied,  readily ;  for  at  that  moment 
he  saw  his  way  clearly  to  a  clever  finesse. 

"  Come,  then,"  said  the  general, 
greatly  pleased.  "We'll  walk  down  and 
look  at  them  at  once. — Miss  Florence, 
can  we  not  tempt  you  to  accompany  us  ?  " 

This  invitation  Miss  Florence  graceful- 
ly but  decidedly  declined.  Not  regard- 
ing General  Waldron  in  the  light  of  a 
possible  father-in-law,  she  saw  no  neces- 
sity— as  she  afterward  remarked  to  her 
sister — for  tanning  her  complexion  by 
walking  over  the  grounds  with  him. — 
"And  I  am  sorry,  Brian,"  she  added, 
"but  it  will  be  impossible  for  us  to  wait 
for  you  long ;  both  Anna  and  myself  have 
a  positive  engagement  in  Edgerton." 

"Don't  think  of  waiting  for  me  at 
all,"  responded  her  cousin,  calmly;  "I 
should  prefer  to  walk.  As  I  remarked  to 
you  some  time  ago,  on  such  a  day  as  this 
one  cannot  have  too  much  of  sunshine." 


THE   HEIRESS   OF   CEDARWOOD. 


More  than  an  hour  elapsed  before  the 
general  and  his  willing  victim  returned ; 
by  that  time  the  Lathrop  equipage  had 
vanished,  and  when  Mr.  Marchmont,  in  a 
somewhat  heated  and  very  tired  condition, 
made  his  appearance  in  the  drawing-room, 
he  found  Miss  "Waldron  alone.  The  large, 
cool  apartment,  so  darkly  toned,  so  fra- 
grant with  flowers,  so  free  from  glare  of 
any  kind,  was  in  itself  refreshing;  and 
it  was  still  more  refreshing  to  be  met  by 
a  handsome  woman,  with  amused  yet  sin- 
cere compassion. 

"  I  have  been  really  uneasy  about 
you,  Mr.  Marchmont,"  she  said,  smiling. 
"  When  papa  mounts  his  hobby,  he  is  apt 
to  be  a  little  inconsiderate ;  and  he  kept 
you  so  long,  I  began  to  fear  lest  you 
might  have  fallen  by  the  wayside  with  a 
sunstroke.  Pray  take  this  chair,  which 
for  comfort  I  can  recommend,  and  let  me 
give  you  a  fan." 

"  How  delightfully  kind  you  are !  " 
said  Marchmont,  accepting  both  the  chair 
and  the  fan.  "  Pardon  me  if  I  say  that  I 
have,  indeed,  had  a  most  fatiguing  time. 
After  inspecting  the  landscape-gardening, 
I  was  taken  to  see  an  imported  Devon 
bull,  which  glared  in  a  manner  unpleas- 
antly suggestive  of  tossing ;  then  to  a 
bottom  which  has  been  recently  drained 
and  put  under  cultivation  on  the  most 
scientific  principles;  then  to  a  new  or- 
chard, and  finally  to  a  model  dairy."  . 

Miss  "Waldron  laughed  again. 

"  How  unconscionable  of  papa !  "  she 
said.  "  And  your  cousins  have  gone,  too ! 
I  am  afraid  your  visit  to  Cedarwood  this 
morning  does  not  strike  you  in  the  light 
of  a  success." 

"On  the  contrary,  it  strikes  me  very 
much  in  that  light  mow,"  responded 
Marchmont.  "I  am  glad  that  my  cousins 
are  gone — I  meant  them  to  go ;  else,  per- 
haps, your  father  might  not  have  found 
me  so  deeply  interested  in  meadow-lands 
and  dairies." 

"For  shame!"  said  Miss  "Waldron, 
but  the  color  deepened  on  her  cheek,  the 
smile  on  her  lip,  as  she  spoke. 


Seen  thus,  she  was  a  very  handsome 
woman,  this  heiress  of  Cedarwood.  A 
stately,  mature-looking  woman  for  her 
years — she  was  only  twenty-four  on  her 
last  birthday — but  with  nothing  hard  or 
arrogant  in  manner  or  appearance.  She 
was  invariably  self-possessed,  and,  per- 
haps, a  trifle  too  decided  in  speech  and 
bearing ;  but  these  things  followed,  as 
matters  of  course,  from  her  tempera- 
ment, as  well  as  from  her  position  in  life. 
In  figure  she  was  tall,  with  a  more  com- 
manding than  graceful  presence,  though 
no  one  could  accuse  her  of  absolutely 
lacking  the  latter  attribute.  Her  face 
was  clear-cut  as  a  cameo,  and  indicated 
an  excellent  mind,  without  intellectual 
brilliancy,  and  a  generous,  upright  nature, 
impatient  of  shams,  scorning  deception. 
Under  the  broad,  benignant  brow  were 
set  a  pair  of  dark  eyes  often  full  of  satir- 
ical light;  the  nose  was  large,  but  not 
heavy,  with  delicate,  arched  nostrils; 
while  the  mouth  was  altogether  sweet 
and  womanly,  with  that  dark  down  on 
the  upper  lip  which  is  so  common  on 
French  and  Spanish  feminine  faces.  Miss 
"Waldron  had  neither  French  nor  Spanish 
blood,  but  she  was  a  brunette  of  the  most 
pronounced  type  ;  and  her  color,  when  it 
came,  was  the  rich  pomegranate  flush  of 
the  Southern  skies. 

This  color  was  glowing  in  her  cheeks 
now,  and  giving  lustre  to  her  eyes.  She 
was  most  becomingly  dressed,  and,  as  she 
leaned  back  in  a  large,  luxurious  chair, 
with  the  rich  room  stretching  away  in 
the  dim  background  behind  her,  March- 
mont's  aesthetic  tastes  were  thoroughly 
gratified.  This  was  what  he  liked — 
beauty  adorned  by  art  in  the  highest 
possible  degree,  and  the  manner  of  a 
thorough  woman  of  the  world. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  Beatrix 
Waldron  would  grace  worthily  any  posi- 
tion to  which  she  might  be  exalted — 
which,  was  a  very  essential  point  to  a  man 
at  once  so  ambitious  and  so  fastidious. 
No  degree  of  wealth  could  have  tempted 
him  to  marry  an  underbred  woman,  and 


AFTER  MANY   DAYS. 


the  necessity  must  have  been  very  great 
which  could  have  induced  him  to  think 
of  marrying  a  plain  one. 

"  You  will  remain  to  luncheon,  of 
course,"  Miss  "Waldron  went  on,  "and 
afterward  papa  will  take  pleasure,  I  am 
sure,  in  driving  you  into  Edgerton." 

"  I  will  remain  to  luncheon  very  will- 
ingly," Marchmont  replied,  "but  you 
must  allow  me  to  decline  being  driven 
into  Edgerton.  I  was  quite  sincere  in 
telling  Florence  that  I  prefer  the  walk — 
especially  if  I  take  a  short  cut  through 
the  fields  which  your  father  was  kind 
enough  to  show  me." 

"  It  is  a  route  which  all  our  friends 
take  when  they  come  to  see  us  on  foot," 
said  the  heiress,  "  and,  unless  I  am  mis- 
taken, yonder  is  one  coming  now." 

Marchmont  turned  Ms  head  to  look 
out  of  the  window  through  which  she 
was  gazing,  and,  greatly  to  his  disgust, 
perceived  a  man  approaching  the  house, 
who,  from  the  direction  in  which  he  came, 
had  plainly  crossed  the  fields. 

"It  is  Mr.  Archer,  I  think,"  said  Miss 
"Waldron.  "  Do  you  know  him  ? — I  sup- 
pose not,"  as  Marchmont  uttered  a  neg- 
ative. "He  is  a  hard-working  young 
lawyer,  who  goes  into  society  very  little. 
Papa  thinks  highly  of  his  ability,  and  has 
trusted  a  great  deal  of  business  to  him. 
Probably  he  has  come  on  some  matter  re- 
lating to  it  now." 

"  Then  he  will  not  disturb  us,"  said 
Marchmont,  in  a  tone  of  relief. 

"  Are  you  so  comfortable  ?  "  asked 
Miss  "Waldron.  "  I  am  sorry  that  you  must 
be  disturbed  in  any  event,  for  here  comes 
my  little  page  to  say  that  luncheon  is 
ready. — Go  and  find  your  master,  Rex. — 
We  need  not  wait,  Mr.  Marchmont ;  papa 
is  in  the  library,  no  doubt." 

She  rose,  and  while  Marchmont  and 
herself  crossed  the  drawing-room,  the 
little  page  of  whom  she  spoke — a  mulatto 
boy  dressed  in  livery — darted  to  the  li- 
brary. So  it  chanced  that,  when  they 
reached  the  hall,  they  found  the  gentle- 
man who  had  been  seen  from  the  window 


standing  in  the  open  door,  waiting  the 
appearance  of  a  servant. 

Miss  Waldron  greeted  him  very  gra- 
ciously : 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Archer.  You 
are  just  in  time  for  luncheon.  Come  with 
us,  pray.  Let  me  introduce  Mr.  March- 
mont." 

Mr.  Archer  acknowledged  the  intro- 
duction, and  then  said : 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Waldron,  but  I  will 
not  come  in.  I  only  want  to  seethe  gen- 
eral a  few  minutes  on  business,  and — " 

"  Business  always  comes  better  after 
the  inner  man  has  been  refreshed,"  said 
the  general's  voice  in  the  rear.  "  Non- 
sense, man !  come  in  to  luncheon.  I  know 
your  abstemious  habits,  but  you  must  at 
least  take  a  cracker  and  a  glass  of  wine 
after  such  a  walk." 

Mr.  Archer  made  no  further  demur, 
but  followed,  with  his  host,  the  trailing 
sweep  of  Miss  Waldron's  dress  across  the 
hall. 

The  room  which  they  entered  was 
very  handsome,  and  the  pretty  lunch- 
table  was  like  a  picture,  as  it  stood  glit- 
tering with  crystal  and  china. 

When  they  sat  down,  Marchmont 
looked  at  the  young  lawyer  with  that 
sense  of  distrust  which  becomes  the  suit- 
or of  an  heiress.  He  saw  no  material  for 
a  rival,  however.  A  gentleman  unmis- 
takably was  Mr.  Archer,  but  evidently  a 
man  entirely  unaccustomed  to  those  easy 
habitudes  of  society  which  sat  upon 
Marchmont  himself  like  a  garment.  A 
refined,  thoughtful  face,  with  something 
of  the  keenness  which  is  always  apparent 
in  the  physiognomy  of  the  born  lawyer, 
and  which  here  was  chiefly  expressed  by 
the  hazel  eyes  and  attenuated  nose — this 
was  what  he  noted,  together  with  a  man- 
ner reserved  almost  to  stiffness,  and  a  coat 
so  much  worn  that  it  fairly  reached  the 
point  of  shabbiness. 

It  was  characteristic  of  General  Wal- 
dron and  his  daughter  that  they  treated 
the  wearer  of  this  shabby  coat  with  a 
courtesy  as  cordial  as  if  he  had  been  a 


THE   HEIRESS   OF   CEDARWOOD. 


millionaire,  under  the  influence  of  which 
Mr.  Archer's  reserve  melted  somewhat. 
There  was  nothing  shy  or  awkward  about 
him,  yet  he  felt  both  as  he  listened  to 
Marchmont's  flow  of  small-talk. 

Few  things  have  a  more  paralyzing 
effect  upon  a  man  of  action  than  to  meet 
a  man  of  society  under  circumstances  like 
these ;  and  Archer  was  conscious  of  a 
sense  of  inferiority,,  which  he  could  not 
possibly  have  felt  at  any  other  time  or 
in  any  other  place. 

It  was  a  relief  when  General  "Waldron 
began  to  speak  of  topics  with  which  he 
was  familiar,  leaving  Miss  Waldron  and 
Marchmont  to  pursue  their  conversation 
aside. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  your 
opinion  is  correct  with  regard  to  the  X 
and  Y  Railroad,  Archer,"  he  said.  "I 
was  talking  to  Mr.  Trafford  about  it  a  few 
days  ago,  and  he  is  sure  that  the  stock 
will  prove  a  paying  investment  before 
very  long.  I  know  of  nobody  whose 
opinion  on  such  a  subject  has  more  value 
than  his." 

"Certainly  he  has  judged  very  shrewd- 
ly for  himself,"  said  Archer.  "No  man 
has  invested  capital  with  greater  success. 
I  heard  his  wealth  computed  at  a  million 
the  other  day." 

"An  exaggeration,  I  think,"  said  the 
general,  filling  a  glass  of  sparkling  wine. 
''But  he  is  wealthy,  beyond  a  doubt,  and 
shrewd.  There  has  been  some  talk,  you 
know,  about  the  unsoundness  of  the  man- 
ufacturing company  here,  which  has  most 
likely  brought  him  to  Edgerton.  If  he 
sells  his  shares,  I  shall  sell  mine." 

"  It  will  be  at  a  great  sacrifice." 

"Better  that  than  lose  the  whole." 

Of  this  conversation  only  one  name 
caught  Marchmont's  ear  with  a  familiar 
sound,  and  that  was  "  Trafford."  For  a 
minute  he  was  unable  to  remember  where 
he  had  lately  heard  it,  until  he  thought  of 
little  Mariette  Reynolds,  and  then  he  sud- 
denly became  aware  that  Miss  Waldron 
was  talking  to  him. 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  music,  are  you 


not,  Mr.  Marchmont?  Nay,  don't  an- 
swer— the  question  was  foolishly  framed. 
Everybody  professes  to  be  '  fond  of  mu- 
sic.' I  meant  to  say,  you  know  a  good 
deal  of  music — do  you  not  ? " 

"You  alarm  my  modesty  by  such  a 
formidable  question,"  he  answered.  "  I 
know  something  of  music — not  a  great 
deal,  by  any  means." 

"  Do  you  sing  at  all  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Nature  only  gave 
me  the  capability  of  admiring  the  singing 
of  others." 

"  It  is  a  capability  which  she  denies 
to  many  people.  Papa,  there,  does  not 
care  a  straw  for  the  best  music  in  the 
world,  and  does  not  know  soprano  from 
contralto,  or  tenor  from  base.  But  you 
wonder  what  all  this  leads  to.  Briefly,  I 
am  meditating  a  musical  entertainment, 
or,  at  least,  an  entertainment  which  shall 
be  in  part  musical ;  and  I  wish  to  secure 
a  good  critic-in-chief." 

"  To  the  extent  of  my  limited  ability, 
I  shall  be  happy  to  serve  in  the  position. 
What  is  your  programme  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  bore  you  with  it  now.  It 
is  not  fully  matured,  and  immature  things 
should  never  be  published.  If  you  remain 
in  Edgerton  two  or  three  weeks  longer, 
you  will  probably  hear  all  about  it." 

A  few  minutes  later  they  left  the  din- 
ing-room, and  General  Waldron  walked 
with  Mr.  Archer  to  the  library,  while 
Miss  Waldron  and  her  companion  paused 
in  the  hall,  where,  through  several  open 
doors,  the  golden  brightness  of  the  day 
was  fully  revealed,  and  multitudinous 
sweet  odors  were  borne  in  on  the  soft 
tricksy  breezes. 

"  It  is  a  shame  to  spend  such  a  day  in 
the  house,"  said  the  young  lady,  taking 
up  a  garden-hat.  "  Are  you  still  exhaust- 
ed by  the  tramp  papa  gave  you,  Mr. 
Marchmont,  or  would  you  like  to  accom- 
pany me  to  the  fernery  ?  I  believe  you 
have  not  seen  it  yet,  and  it  is  my  show- 
place." 

"I  have  entirely  recovered  from  my 
fatigue,"  Marchmont  answered,  "and  I 


AFTER   MANY   DAYS. 


shall  be  glad  to  see  the  fernery,  or  any- 
thing else  that  you  choose  to  show  me." 

To  the  fernery,  therefore,  they  took 
their  way.  It  deserved  to  be  a  show- 
place,  if  only  for  the  refreshment  which 
it  afforded  them  when  they  came  into  its 
shade  and  coolness  from  the  noonday  glare 
and  heat.  There  were  an  abundance  of 
rocks  made  damp  by  trickling  water,  and 
the  green  plumy  grace  of  ferns  in  pro- 
fusion. 

"  We  can  fancy  ourselves  in  a  moun- 
tain-glen," said  Miss  Waldron,  after  her 
companion  had  expressed  his  admiration. 
"  The  mountains  only  are  lacking." 

"  And  that  is  a  trifle  when  we  have 
the  rocks  and  ferns,"  said  Marchmont. 
"I  congratulate  myself  afresh  upon  hav- 
ing sent  Anna  and  Florence  back  to  Edg- 
erton  without  me !  I  had  an  instinct  of 
something  charming  in  store  for  me ;  and 
I  never  yet  followed  my  instinct  and  was 
deceived." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Miss  Wal- 
dron, "but  I  can't  help  suspecting  that, 
even  while  making  these  pretty  speeches, 
you  are,  perhaps,  putting  the  fernery  in 
the  same  class  with  papa's  model  dairy." 

"  I  never  justify  myself  when  I  am 
suspected,"  said  Marchmont ;  "  I  always 
leave  circumstances  to  do  that  for  me. 
Shall  we  sit  down  ?  This  is  an  improve- 
ment on  a  mountain-glen — and,  I  may 
add,  on  the  model  dairy — inasmuch  as 
there  are  seats  here  for  the  indolent;  and 
I  am  always  indolent  when  I  find  myself 
in  an  agreeable  place." 

Miss  Waldron  assented. 

"  We  can  sit  down,"  she  said,  "  while 
I  show  you  some  of  my  prettiest  varie- 
ties of  ferns.  Do  you  know  much  about 
them !  Here  is  the  maiden's-hair,  with 
its  delicate  ebony  stem ;  this  is  the  beech- 
fern,  this  the  cheilanthes,  and  here  is  the 
beautiful  little — Mr.  Marchmont,  I  am 
instructing  you,  and  you  are  not  listening 
to  me  at  all !  " 

"A  thousand  pardons!  "  said  March- 
mont, who  was  looking  at  her  instead  of 
the  ferns.  "I  was,  indeed,  not  paying 


proper  attention  to  what  you  were  say- 
ing, for  I  was  thinking — shall  I  tell  you 
what  I  was  thinking  ?  " 

"  Your  thoughts  might  not  interest 
me  much  more  than  my  ferns  have  inter- 
ested you,"  she  answered,  lightly. 

"Probably  not,  but  still  I  should  like 
to  tell  you — though  I  scarcely  fancy  you 
need  to  be  told — what  they  were.  I  can 
think  of  but  one  thing  when  I  am  with 
you,  and  that  is — yourself!  " 

"Am  I  a  thing?"  she  asked,  with  a 
laugh,  while  a  soft  flush  rose  into  her 
cheeks.  "  You  are  a  flatterer ;  and  since 
you  are  not  at  all  interested  in  the  ferns, 
we  had  better  go  back  to  the  house." 

"  Pray  don't !  "  said  Marchmont,  eager- 
ly. "  I  am  not  a  flatterer.  You  know — 
or  you  ought  to  know — that  I  could  not 
flatter  you  if  I  tried.  I  should  have  told 
you  long  ago  that  I  love  you  passionately, 
if  I  had  not  lacked  the  opportunity,  and 
perhaps  the  courage,  to  do  so.  But  I  can- 
not be  silent  any  longer.  I  love  you  so 
much  that  I  must  ask  if  there  is  any 
hope  of  winning  you?  "  The  earnestness 
and  passion  with  which  he  spoke  were 
not  simulated,  for  Beatrix  Waldron  was  a 
prize  well  worth  winning,  apart  from  the 
wealth  which  made  her  chief  attraction  ; 
and  the  man  who  addressed  her  was  spe- 
cially fitted  to  appreciate  this.  There  are 
many  worse  counterfeits  of  love  afloat  in 
the  world  than  the  sentiment  which  he 
felt  when,  with  his  last  words,  he  took 
her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

She  did  not  draw  it  from  his  clasp,  but 
when  he  lifted  his  head  he  found  her  dark 
eyes  fastened  on  him  with  a  steady  grav- 
ity which  did  not  augur  well,  he  thought, 
for  his  hopes.  If  the  lashes  had  drooped 
on  the  flushed  cheeks,  he  would  have  felt 
that  success  was  in  his  grasp.  But  that 
glance  was  not  calculated  to  inspire  such 
a  conviction  ;  there  was  too  much  of  the 
woman  of  the  world  apparent  in  it — of 
the  woman  who  had  heard  many  other 
men  utter  such  words  as  these.  If  he  had 
suspected  how  quickly  her  heart  was 
beating  just  then,  he  would  have  been  re- 


THE   HEIRESS   OF   CEDARWOOD. 


assured;  but  he  did  not  suspect  it,  and 
her  voice,  when  she  spoke,  did  not  betray 
the  fact. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  you  surprise  me, 
Mr.  Marchmont,  for  that  would  be  foolish 
and  untrue.  But.  I  am  sorry  that  you 
have  said  this.  "We  have  been  very  good 
friends — now  we  must  be  something  else. 
And  I  hardly  know  how  to  answer  you." 

"Then  you  do  not  love  me?"  said 
Marchmont,  with  a  pang  of  keen  disap- 
pointment. "  I  was  mad  enough  to 
hope—" 

He  broke  off  short ;  but  no  rounded 
sentences  could  have  pleaded  his  cause 
so  well  as  that  pause,  and  the  look  which 
accompanied  it.  This  look  went  straight 
as  an  arrow  to  Beatrix's  heart,  and  her 
lips  curved  into  a  smile,  very  sweet  and 
very  bright. 

"  I  am  not  seventeen,"  she  said.  "  You 
must  expect  a  woman  of  my  age  to  be  a 
little  reasonable — to  consider  a  little  be- 
fore pledging  herself  to  anything  very 
important.  But  I  may  say  to  you,  as  the 
heroines  of  old-time  novels  said  to  their 
lovers,  '1  am  not  indifferent  to  your  mer- 
its.' " 

"I  am  grateful  for  any  crumb  of  en- 
couragement," he  replied,  "  but  my  mer- 
its are  so  inappreciably  small,  that  I  can- 
not afford  to  base  any  hope  on  them." 

"Modesty  is  a  great  merit,"  said  she, 
half  laughing,  "and  so  rare,  too!  I  did 
not  know  before  that  you  cultivated  it. 
Shall  I  say,  then,  frankly,  that  I  like  you 
very  much,  but — " 

"  Why  should  you  bring  in  that  detest- 
able word?"  asked  he — and  now,  indeed, 
he  began  to  hope.  "Surely  you  do  not 
mean  to  qualify  anything  so  moderate  as 
liking." 

"  No,  I  do  not  mean  to  qualify  the  lik- 
ing ;  I  only  mean  that  I  cannot  give  you 
anything  more — at  present.  I  am  doubt- 
ful of  many  things — my  own  heart  among 
the  rest.  As  I  have  already  said,  a  wom- 
an of  my  age,  if  she  has  any  sense  at  all, 
does  not  act  hastily  in  such  an  important 
matter  as  this.  When  I  give  my  hand,  I 


wish  to  be  sure  that  my  whole  heart  goes 
with  it,  and  not  only  my  heart,  but  my 
mind — in  other  words,  I  want  to  be  sure 
that  I  can  thoroughly  respect  as  well  as 
love  the  man  I  marry." 

"  And  you  are  not  sure  of  that  with 
regard  to  me,"  said  Marchmont,  with  a 
flush  mounting  to  his  brow. 

"You  must  not  misunderstand  me," 
she  answered,  quickly.  "I  only  .mean 
that  I  know  very  little  of  you.  How  much 
of  the  real  character  do  we  show  each 
other  in  the  drawing-rooms  ?  Marriage  is 
called  a  lottery ;  but,  for  my  part,  I  have 
always  had  a  fancy  to  know  what  I  was 
doing  before  taking  a  step  which  means 
so  much.  Is  that  desire  unreasonable  ?  " 

"  Very  far  from  it,"  replied  March- 
mont; though  he  might  have  added,  "It 
is  very  inconvenient !  "  "I  am  content  if 
you  give  me  a  little  hope — if  you  do  not 
send  me  away." 

"I  should  be  sorry  for  you  to  go," 
she  said,  with  a  charming  blush.  "If 
you  are  willing  to  wait  for  a  more  defi- 
nite answer — if  you  can  be  satisfied  with 
a  fair  field  and  some  favor — " 

"I  can  be  satisfied  with  anything 
which  gives  me  a  hope  of  at  last  winning 
this!  "  he  said,  again  kissing  the  slender, 
delicate  hand  sparkling  with  jewels. 

She  drew  it  away  now  with  a  faint 
sigh.  Perhaps  the  thought  occurred  to 
her  that  without  the  jewels  it  might  not 
be  esteemed  so  well  worth  the  winning 
— at  least  it  is  certain  that  she  had  not 
the  obtuseness  with  which  (fortunately 
for  themselves)  many  heiresses  are  liber- 
ally endowed.  She  did  not  exactly  dis- 
trust every  man  who  approached  her,  but 
she  knew  enough  of  the  world  to  be 
aware  of  the  mercenary  side  of  human 
nature,  and  to  feel  sure  that  she  was  not 
indebted  to  her  ~beaux-yeux  alone  for  all 
the  suitors  who  had  thronged  around  her. 

Philosophy  and  worldly  knowledge, 
however,  combined  to  prevent  her  betray- 
ing such  thoughts  as  these.  Though  she 
drew  back  her  hand,  it  was  with  a  very 
winning  smile  that  she  said: 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


"  I  will  not  make  your  probation  long 
or  hard.  Believe  me,  I  have  no  love  for 
coquetry,  and  I  promise  not  to  keep  you 
in  doubt  an  hour  longer  than  I  can  help. 
Bat  I  must  be  certain  of  myself!  I  have 
known  a  great  many  men,  and  heard  a 
great  many  declarations  of — attachment, 
shall  I  say?  But,  oddly  enough,  they 
have  none  of  them  touched  my  heart  suf- 
ficiently to  make  me  willing  to  give  up 
my  freedom  and  trust  my  life  to  the  pow- 
er of  a  man  who  might  make  or  mar  all 
its  happiness.  You  see" — the  Spanish- 
like  eyes  gazed  away  from  him  to  the 
sunny  emerald  sward  of  the  lawn  beyond 
— "I  am  not  one  of  those  gentle,  trusting 
women  to  whom  love  is  a  necessity.  On 
the  contrary  " — a  slight  laugh — "  I  think 
I  am  one  of  the  women  who  could  easily 
drift  into  a  strong-minded  old  maid." 

u  Heaven  forbid!  "  cried  Marchmont, 
with  unaffected  horror.  "  The  bare  idea 
of  such  a  thing  is  sacrilege!  Do  not 
think  that  I  shall  grow  impatient  over  my 
probation,"  he  went  on.  "I  will  wait — 
gladly,  willingly — any  length  of  time,  if 
only  you  can  finally  trust  your  life  to  me, 
believing  that  I  shall  make,  not  mar,  its 
happiness." 

"I  should  be  glad  to  believe  it," 
she  said,  almost  as  if  speaking  to  her- 
self. 

"Then  why  can  you  not  believe  it?" 
cried  Marchmont,  impetuously.  ""What 
proof  can  I  give  you  ?  I  should  hesitate  at 
none !  If  I  could  only  lay  bare  my  heart 
to  your  inspection — if  you  could  only 
see—" 

"  Nay,  that  is  impossible,  you  know," 
she  interrupted,  with  another  soft  yet 
brilliant  smile.  "  Besides,  if  one  could  al- 
ways see,  there  would  be  no  such  thing 
as  faith  ;  and  that  is  my  favorite  virtue. 
It  is  not  because  I  distrust  you  that  I  hes- 
itate :  it  is  because  I  am  not  sure  of  my- 
self. But  I  suppose  there  is  an  answer  to 
all  riddles  after  a  while ;  and  you  will 
wait  patiently — will  you  not  ? — for  the  an- 
swer to  this.  Now  " — after  Marchmont 
had  again  assented — "we  will  return  to 


the  house,  for  I  see  Mr.  Archer  is  taking 
his  departure,  and  I  want  to  ask  him  to 
attend  to  some  business  for  me." 


CHAPTER  VI. 


AN   APPLE-TKEE. 

ON  the  graveled  sweep  in  front  of  the 
house  Miss  Waldron  and  her  companion 
met  Mr.  Archer,  who  had  parted  with 
the  general  a  moment  before.  Seeing  the 
latter  still  standing  on  the  steps  of  the 
portico,  Marchmont  said  : 

"  If  you  are  going  to  walk  to  Edger- 
ton,  Mr.  Archer,  and  have  no  objection, 
I  will  accompany  you  as  soon  as  I  bid 
General  Waldron  good-day." 

Archer  responded  to  the  effect  that 
he  had  no  objection,  and,  leaving  Miss 
Waldron  talking  to  him,  Marchmont 
passed  on  to  the  general.  That  genial 
gentleman,  being  fond  of  conversation, 
detained  him  several  minutes,  and  it  was 
with  some  difficulty  that  he  at  last  took 
leave  and  rejoined  the  others.  As  he 
approached,  he  heard  Miss  Waldron  say- 
ing : 

"  It  is  a  rather  troublesome  commis- 
sion, but  you  are  so  kind  about  attending 
to  such  things  that  I  have  grown  accus- 
tomed to  imposing  upon  your  good-na- 
ture." 

"  I  assure  you  that  I  have  never  felt 
the  imposition,"  Archer  replied.  "It 
gives  me  sincere  pleasure  to  serve  you  in 
any  way." 

"  Will  you  have  a  fern  for  a  reward  ?  " 
she  asked,  extending  one  with  a  smile. 
"I  know  you  are  as  much  of  a  fern-lover 
as  myself.  I  have  been  showing  my 
fernery  to  Mr.  Marchmont,  and  trying  to 
waken  his  interest  for  my  favorites,  but 
I  failed  signally." 

"I  think  you  know  the  reason  of  the 
failure,"  said  Marchmont,  while  Archer 
received  the  fern  and  looked  at  it  with 
the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 


UNDER  AN  APPLE-TREE. 


29 


"  This  is  one  of  your  prettiest  varie- 
ties, Miss  Waldron,"  he  said.  "How 
very  delicate  and  graceful  these  fronds 
are !  You  mean  it  for  me  ?  Thank  you." 

He  took  out  his  pocket-book,  opened 
it,  and  placed  the  fern  within,  saying: 

"  A  leaf  like  this  withers  sooner  than 
a  flower  in  the  heat  of  the  sun." 

"  And  am  I  to  be  punished  for  finding 
you  more  interesting  than  the  ferns,  by 
not  having  any  bestowed  upon  me?" 
asked  Marchmont.  "  Surely  you  will  not 
be  so  unkind !  I,  too,  think  fern-leaves 
beautiful — and  I  should  like  one  as  a  sou- 
venir," he  added,  with  a  glance  that  ex- 
pressed a  great  deal. 

Despite  her  self-possession,  Beatrix's 
color  deepened  as  she  held  out  the  collec- 
tion. 

"  Take  one,  if  you  like,"  she  said ; 
"  but  I  am  sure  you  will  not  value  it." 

"  I  should  prefer  for  you  to  give  it  to 
me,"  he  answered.  "  And  as  for  my  not 
valuing  it,  I  think  you  know  better  than 
that.  I  would  value  anything  you  gave 
me — especially  anything  associated  with 
to-day." 

His  voice  sank  over  the  last  words,  so 
that  Archer  did  not  hear  them,  but  he 
had  a  shrewd  idea  of  their  tenor.  Having 
by  this  time  put  away  his  pocket-book, 
he  said,  somewhat  stiffly : 

"I  am  at  your  service,  Mr.  March- 
rnont,  when  you  are  ready  to  start." 

"I  will  not  detain  you,"  said  March- 
mont.— "  Many  thanks !  "  as  Miss  Waldron 
gave  him  the  fern.  "I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  soon  again." 

The  gentlemen  lifted  their  hats;  the 
lady  bowed ;  then  they  moved  away  over 
the  sunshiny  lawn  toward  a  small  wick- 
et which  let  them  into  the  fields,  across 
which  a  path  ran. 

"What  a  charming  place!"  March- 
mont said,  as  they  found  themselves  out- 
side the  grounds.  "  One  seems  while 
there  to  breathe  an  air  of  repose  and  lux- 
ury. After  all,  there  is  no  such  benefi- 
cent genius  as  money,  when  it  is  united 
with  good  taste." 


"  It  is  a  very  powerful  genius,"  said 
Archer,  "  but  its  beneficence  depends  alto- 
gether upon  the  use  which  is  made  of  it." 

"At  least  it  would  be  difficult  to  find 
fault  with  the  manner  in  which  it  is 
used  in  this  instance,"  said  Marchmont. 
"  What  a  capital  fellow  the  general  is, 
despite  his  being  a  trifle  prosy !  And 
good  taste  is  one  of  the  least  of  Miss  Wal- 
dron's  charms." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of 
this  remark  which  jarred  on  Archer ;  but 
he  was  well  aware  that  he  had  no  right 
to  express  any  feeling  of  the  kind. 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  tell  what 
charm  Miss  Waldron  does  not  posse'ss," 
he  said.  "I  have  known  her  with  a  par- 
tial degree  of  intimacy  for  .several  years, 
and  I  have  never  met  a  nobler  character 
than  hers." 

"You  are  enthusiastic,"  said  March- 
mont, looking  at  him  with  the  least  pos- 
sible elevation  of  the  eyebrows. 

"No;  I  am  simply  literal,"  was  the 
quiet  reply.  "I  am  not  talking  at  ran- 
dom. I  have  something  more  than  a 
drawing-room  acquaintance  with  Miss 
Waldron's  character.  At  the  present 
moment  I  hold  a  commission  from  her — 
there's  nothing  confidential  in  the  matter, 
so  I  may  speak  of  it — which  shows  how 
ready  she  is  to  think  of  benefiting  others. 
There  is  an  untaught  boy  in  Edgerton 
who  has  a  remarkable  talent  for  painting, 
and  a  photographer  employs  him  to  col- 
or photographs,  some  of  which  fell  into 
Miss  Waldron's  hands.  She  was  much 
struck  by  the  work,  and  she  has  asked 
me  to  find  out  all  that  there  is  to  know 
about  him,  and,  if  he  is  really  deserving 
of  assistance,  to  send  him  to  her.  If  he 
is  deserving,  I  have  no  more  doubt  than 
I  have  that  I  am  walking  here  that  she 
will  induce  her  father  to  give  him  the 
opportunities  he  needs." 

"Her  father  must  be  uncommonly 
obliging  if  he  suffers  her  to  waste  money 
on  such  objects.  Embryo  geniuses  are 
among  the  most  disappointing  things  in 
the  world." 


30 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


"The  general  has  no  one  to  consider 
but  herself,  therefore  he  does  not  curb 
her  expenditure  at  all.  I  have  heard  a 
great  many  people  talk  of  her  '  wasting 
money'  before  this,  but  I  fancy  they 
would  not  have  considered  it  so  griev- 
ously wasted  if,  instead  of  helping  the 
struggling,  it  had  been  spent  on  laces  and 
jewels." 

Marchmont's  lip  curled  as  he  lifted  the 
slight  walking-cane  which  he  carried,  and 
beheaded  two  or  three  weeds  with  a  sin- 
gle stroke.  He  could  not  exactly  say, 
"  The  general  should  consider  his  future 
son-in-law,"  but  he  thought  it.  A  pause 
of  two  or  three  minutes  followed  before 
he  said,  carelessly: 

"What  is  the  name  of  the  struggling 
Raphael  in  question  ?  " 

"Dinsmore,"  Archer  answered. 

"Dinsmore!"  Marchmont  repeated, 
with  an  involuntary  start.  To  himself  he 
added,  "  By  Jove,  it  is  odd !  " 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  him?  " 
asked  Archer,  in  some  surprise. 

"Nothing  further  than  that  there  is  a 
boy  of  that  name  in  Mr.  Lathrop's  busi- 
ness-house." 

"Probably  the  same.  I  think  I  have 
heard  that  he  is  there." 

Had  Marchmont  forgotten  his  appoint- 
ment with  Amy  Reynolds — which  was 
not  the  case — this  unexpected  introduc- 
tion of  Dinsmore' s  name  would  have  re- 
minded him  of  it.  Consequently,  when 
they  entered  Edgerton,  he  glanced  at  his 
watch,  and  said : 

"  I  believe  I  am  just  in  time  for  an 
engagement  which  I  made  this  morning. 
Do  our  roads  part  here  ?  I  am  happy  to 
have  made  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Ar- 
cher. Good-afternoon." 

As  Archer  returned  the  salutation  and 
walked  away,  Marchmont  glanced  after  his 
alert  figure  with  a  half -amused  expression. 

"  So  that  is  your  secret,  is  it,  my  good 
fellow?  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  You  are 
certainly  pretty  hard  hit ;  but  it  is  an  in- 
fernal piece  of  presumption  for  you  to 
think  of  Beatrix  Waldron!  " 


"  A  thorough  puppy  !  "  was  Archer's 
equally  complimentary  soliloquy  at  the 
same  moment,  "  and,  unless  I  am  great- 
ly mistaken,  mercenary  to  boot!  How 
strange  that  such  a  woman  should  be  at- 
tracted by  such  a  man ! — and  she  is  at- 
tracted, if  I  am  any  judge  of  the  signs  of 
feminine  fancy.  Well,"  with  a  short, 
quick  sigh,  "  what  is  it  to  me  ? 

'  It  were  all  one 

That  I  should  love  some  bright  particular  star, 
And  think  to  wed  it.' 

I  don't  think  it — I  am  not  such  a  fool  as 
that ;  but  I  should  like  a  chance  to  prove 
what  I  would  do  for  her  sake,  and  what 
a  pitiful  soul  lurks,  I  am  sure,  under  that 
fellow's  silken  exterior !  " 

The  pleasantest — in  fact,  the  only 
pleasant — feature  of  the  Reynolds  domi- 
cile was  a  tolerably-sized  garden,  which, 
although  it  in  part  adjoined  the  Crenshaw 
garden,  did  not,  like  that,  border  the 
street.  Hence  it  was  much  more  retired, 
and,  with  the  dwelling  for  its  boundary  in 
front  and  a  high  fence  and  tall  hedges  on 
the  other  sides,  was  an  agreeable  place  of 
resort  from  January  to  December.  Yet 
it  was  not  much  of  a  garden,  either  in  an 
ornamental  or  useful  sense.  The  vege- 
tables which  came  out  of  it  were  few  and 
poor,  while  the  flowers  that  grew  in  it 
had  long  since  assumed  the  entire  control 
of  their  own  destinies.  Nevertheless, 
there  were  bloom  and  fragrance  even  here 
under  the  sweet  kiss  of  April.  Syringa 
and  yellow  jasmine,  lilac  and  honeysuc- 
kle, these  alone  would  redeem  Sahara. 
A  very  rickety  arbor  was  covered  with 
the  jasmine  and  honeysuckle,  among 
which  countless  bees  were  humming  loud- 
ly, and  under  which,  as  four  o'clock  drew 
near,  sat  Amy,  arrayed  in  the  best  dress 
her  limited  wardrobe  afforded,  with  lilies- 
of-the-valley  in  her  hair,  a  score  of  music 
on  her  lap,  and  a  look  of  expectancy  in 
her  eyes. 

A  clock  near  by  struck  the  hour,  and 
several  minutes  afterward  elapsed,  but 


UNDER  AN  APPLE-TREE. 


31 


still  the  golden  quiet  of  the  afternoon  re- 
mained undisturbed.  The  children,  on 
various  pretexts,  had  been  sent  away, 
and  the  only  sounds  which  broke  the  still- 
ness were  the  chords  of  the  piano  as  they 
rolled  out  under  Felix's  fingers.  Through 
the  open  windows  every  note  was  audible ; 
but  Amy  was  so  accustomed  to  this  that 
it  did  not  in  any  manner  interfere  with 
her  thoughts  or  her  power  of  listening. 
Consequently,  when  a  peal  of  the  door- 
bell came,  she  heard  it  at  once,  although 
the  musician  was  just  then  in  the  midst 
of  a  crashing  fortissimo  passage. 

Instantly  she  dropped  her  score  and 
darted  away.  Clara,  the  half-tleaf  ser- 
vant-of-all-work,  sometimes  answered  the 
door-bell,  if  she  chanced  to  hear  it  and 
was  not  too  busy ;  but  this,  of  all  things, 
Amy  least  desired  at  present,  for  Clara 
had  severe  ideas  of  propriety,  and  fre- 
quently admonished  the  willful,  mother- 
less girl  in  a  well-meant  but  not  agreeable 
manner.  If  she  went  to  the  door,  Mr. 
Marchmont  would  not  be  admitted — of 
that  Amy  felt  sure ;  so  she  hurried  away 
— tearing  her  dress  in  her  haste  on  an 
overgrown  rosebush — flitted  across  the 
latticed  back  piazza,  walked  demurely  but 
quickly  down  the  narrow  passage,  and 
opened  the  door  with  trembling  fingers, 
to  face — a  short,  heavily  bearded,  bright- 
ly spectacled  man,  who  held  out  his  hand 
and  said : 

"  Goot-day,  my  dear !  Ees  your  baba 
at  home?" 

"  Oh !  "  said  Amy,  with  a  great  gulp 
of  disappointment.  She  felt  a  strong  in- 
clination to  slam  the  door,  liked  a  spoiled 
child,  but  she*  resisted  it,  and  only  an- 
swered shortly :  "  No,  Herr  Meerbach,  he 
isn't  at  home ;  he  never  is  at  home  this 
time  of  day." 

"  Ah,  I  haf  made  von  mistake,  den," 
said  IleiT  Meerbach,  smiling  as  he  looked 
at  her — a  smile  Amy  felt  nowise,  inclined 
to  return.  "  I  fought  he  vas  done  mit  his 
lessons  by  now.  Veil,  my  bretty  little 
maiden,  you  shust  say  to  heem  dat  I  veel 
be  glad  eef  he  veel  come  to  my  room  to- 


night. I  haf  von  letter  from  mine  friend 
in  Leipsic." 

"  Oh,  Herr  Meerbach !  "  cried  Amy, 
"  is  there  any  hope  that  papa  will  be  able 
to  send  Felix  ?  " 

"  Sh !  sh !  "  said  Herr  Merrbach,  while 
his  bright  eyes  seemed  to  grow  brighter 
behind  the  spectacles.  "  Ees  not  Felix  at 
de  piano  ?  Do  not  let  him  know.  Dis- 
appointment is  hard,  and  your  baba  must 
say.  Goot-day,  my  dear,  and  be  sure  you 
tell  heem." 

After  the  kindly  little  man  had  walked 
away,  Amy  gave  one  quick  glance  up  and 
down  the  street,  then  drew  in  her  curly 
head  with  a  sigh  and  shut  the  door. 

"  It  would  never  do  to  be  found  watch- 
ing for  him !  "  she  said  to  herself. 

It  was  in  a  somewhat  dejected  frame 
of  mind  that  she  returned  to  the  garden. 
Picking  up  her  score  from  the  walk  where 
it  lay,  she  retreated  to  the  farthest  corner 
of  the  domain,  and  established  herself  on 
the  low,  broad  bough  of  a  spreading  ap- 
ple-tree— a  bough  easily  reached  without 
much  gymnastic  skill. 

It  was  her  favorite  seat,  and  she  did 
not  care  now  how  much  she  tumbled  her 
dress. 

"  I  was  a  fool  to  think  he  would  re- 
member or  care  to  come !  "  she  said. 
"Never  mind;  things  will  be  different 
when  I'am  a  prima  donna!  " 

Then,  as  a  means  to  this  desirable  end, 
she  bent  her  eyes  and  her  attention  on 
the  music,  and  began  to  sing. 

Considering  the  sounds  she  was  emit- 
ting, it  was  not  singular  that,  several 
minutes  later,  she  did  not  hear  approach- 
ing steps  until  her  practising  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  appearance  of  Marchmont, 
who  stepped  round  a  cluster  of  bushes, 
and  said,  with  a  smile  : 

"  I  see  that  Fortune  has  marked  me 
for  its  own.  To  find  you  alone,  to  find 
you  here,  and  to  find  you  singing,  what 
a  delightful  combination  of  circumstan- 
ces!" 

"  How  did  you  get  here  ? "  asked 
Amy,  too  startled  to  think  of  any  other 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


greeting,  and  thrilling  with  a  mixture  of 
pleasure  and  mortification — pleasure  that 
he  had  come,  mortification  that  she  should 
be  found  established,  like  a  tomboy,  in 
the  fork  of  an  apple-tree. 

"I  met  my  charming  little  friend 
Mariette  on  the  street.  She  piloted  me 
into  the  house,  and  your  voice  did  the 
rest.  Are  you  vexed  with  me  for  com- 
ing? If  you  could  see  yourself  among 
those  apple-blossoms,  you  would  think 
the  picture  too  lovely  to  be  wasted  ;  and 
I  am  at  least  endowed  with  the  power  to 
admire." 

There  was  little  doubt  of  that.  His 
eyes,  as  he  spoke,  expressed  this  admira- 
tion so  plainly,  that  into  Amy's  face  the 
blood  mounted  in  a  roseate  tide.  She 
recovered  her  composure,  however — 
helped  thereto  by  a  sense  of  satisfaction 
which  was  all  the  greater  for  following 
on  partial  disappointment. 

"I  hope  my  ankles  are  not  showing 
very  badly !  "  she  thought.  "  If  I  had 
expected  you  in  the  least,  you  would  not 
find  me  perched  here  in  this  ridiculous 
manner,"  she  added,  aloud. 

"  I  don't  consider  it  ridiculous  at  all," 
said  Harchmont.  "  I  have  often  sat  in 
an  apple-tree,  and  I  know  that  it  gener- 
ally makes  a  capital  seat.  May  I  try  it 
now  ?  That  bough  looks  very  tempting." 

"  I  cannot  advise  you  to  try  it,"  said 
Amy,  with  a  rippling  laugh.  "I  don't 
think  it  would  bear  your  weight.  It 
cracked  the  other  day  when  Hugh  and  I 
were  sitting  here." 

"  Oh,  Hugh  sits  there,  does  he  ?  Lucky 
fellow !  By-the-by,  I  think  I  saw  Hugh 
this  morning — isn't  his  name  Dinsmore  ? — 
and  he  did  not  regard  me  in  a  very  friend- 
ly manner." 

"  Hugh  is — peculiar !  "  said  Amy.  "  I 
bear  with  him  because  he  is  such  a  good 
fellow,  but  I  often  tell  him  that  he  will 
never  get  on  in  the  world." 

"  That  must  be  encouraging,"  said 
Marchmont,  smiling.  He  was  not  in  the 
least  interested  in  Hugh,  but  he  served 
for  a  topic  of  conversation,  and  it  was 


pleasant  to  lean  against  a  convenient  tree 
and  watch  at  his  leisure  the  slanting  sun- 
light fall  on  the  girl  opposite — on  her  rich 
chestnut  hair,  her  exquisite  complexion, 
her  piquant  features  and  laughing  eyes. 
"  By  Jove !  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  if  she 
ever  does  go  on  the  stage,  it  will  be  a 
Veni,  vidi,  vici  business  in  more  senses 
than  one ! " 

"Oh,  Hugh  does  not  mind  what  I 
say,"  remarked  Amy,  answering  his  last 
remark.  "  "We  are  great  friends,  though 
he  is  very  trying — and  some  day  when  I 
am  famous  he  is  to  paint  my  portrait." 

"  You  have  quite  made  up  your  mind 
with  regaVd  to  the  fame,  then  ?  " 

"I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind; 
but " — a  sigh — "  unluckily  there  are  other 
minds  to  be  made  up." 

"  Would  a  victory  be  worth  anything 
without  a  struggle?  But  I  see  no  neces- 
sity to  wait  till  you  are  famous  with  re- 
gard to  the  portrait.  "Why  does  not 
Hugh  paint  it  now  ?  I  should  like  a  pict- 
ure of  you  as  you  sit  there.  But  I 
should  not  like  him  to  be  here  to  take 
it— at  least  not  now." 

"It  is  very  inhospitable  of  me  to  sit 
here  and  let  you  stand,"  said  Amy,  de- 
bating in  her  mind  how  she  should  get 
down.  "We  might  go  into  the  parlor, 
only  Felix  is  making  such  a  noise  there." 

"Don't  think  of  such  a  thing!  It  is 
absolutely  sinful  to  spend  such  hours  as 
these  under  a  roof." 

"  Well,  there  is  the  arbor,  if  you  won't 
be  frightened  by  its  appearance.  It  looks 
as  if  just  about  to  fall  down,  but  it  has 
stood  a  long  while." 

"  I  should  be  dreadfully  frightened,  I 
am  certain.  I  don't  want  to  be  buried, 
not  even  by  an  arbor.  It  strikes  me  that 
we  are  excellently  placed ;  pray  allow  me 
to  remain  where  I  am.  I  never  grow 
tired  when  I  am  well  entertained." 

"  I  don't  see  what  there  is  to  enter- 
tain you,"  said  Amy,  who  began  to  find 
this  very  agreeable. 

"Don't  you?  That  is  strange !  How- 
ever, I  must  not  neglect  business  for 


UNDER  AN  APPLE-TREE. 


33 


pleasure,  though  happily,  in  this  instance, 
business  is  synonymous  with  pleasure. 
Will  you  let  me  hear  your  song,  mademoi- 
selle? 

Mademoiselle  did  not  demur  or  hesi- 
tate. She  lifted  the  sheet  of  music,  and 
forthwith  began  to  sing. 

Marchmont  listened  and  looked  with 
an  expression  of  amused  approval. 

The  pretty,  half-childish  figure  perched 
on  the  gnarled  bough  of  the  old  apple- 
tree,  her  unconscious  imitation  of  the 
inanner  of  a  concert-singer,  and  the  beau- 
tiful, silvery  voice — the  oddity  of  this 
combination  might  have  amused  a  less 
volatile  person. 

"When  the  song  ended,  she  received 
his  compliments  and  criticisms  with  per- 
fect composure. 

"  Of  course  I  have  a  great  deal  yet  to 
learn,"  she  said;  "but  I  know  my  voice 
will  be  worth  hearing  some  day.  Papa 
says  so,  and  Heir  Meerbach — he  is  teacher 
of  music  at  the  college,  you  know — and 
Mr.  Trafford.  It  is  astonishing  how  much 
Mr.  Trafford  knows  about  such  things !  " 

Upon  which  Marchmont  could  no  lon- 
ger restrain  the  question  which  had  trem- 
bled on  his  tongue  twice  before  that  day. 

"Who  is  Mr.  Trafford?"  he  asked. 
"Or  perhaps  I  should  say  what  is  he? 
I  have  heard  of  him  as  a  benevolent  gen- 
tleman who  keeps  string  for  the  benefit 
of  small  children,  and  as  a  capitalist  who 
invests  in  paying  stocks ;  now  I  hear  of 
him  as  a  musical  critic.  Pray,  is  he  any- 
thing else?" 

"  An  eavesdropper  occasionally — with- 
out malicious  intention,"  answered  a 
voice  which  made  both  Marchmont  and 
Amy  start.  The  former,  however,  was 
chiefly  surprised  when,  on  turning,  he  en- 
countered the  gaze  of  a  pair  of  acute  eyes, 
and  saw  a  head  overlooking  the  high  wall 
which  shut  off  Mrs.  Orenshaw's  garden. 
This  head  was  covered  with  iron-gray 
hair,  and  surmounted  by  an  embroidered 
smoking-cap ;  the  face  was  that  of  a  man 
between  fifty  and  sixty,  bronzed,  lined, 
expressing  much  shrewdness,  yet  frank 
3 


and  pleasant  withal.  A  meerschaum  pipe 
was  in  his  mouth,  which  he  removed  as 
he  went  on  : 

"You  must  excuse  me,  my  dear" — 
addressing  Amy — "  but  your  song  drew 
me  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  and,  as  I 
paced  along  the  wall,  I  heard  this  gentle- 
man's question.  You  can  answer  it  as 
you  please,  for  I  am  going  back  to  the 
house  now.  Take  care  of  yourself — 
don't  fall  out  of  that  tree !  " 

He  smiled,  nodded,  and  disappeared. 
There  was  a  minute's  silence  while  they 
listened  to  his  retreating  footsteps,  then 
Marchmont  said : 

"Is  he  a  lunatic?  Ilis  mode  of  ap- 
pearance reminds  one  strikingly  of  the 
crazy  man  in  'Nicholas  Nickleby.'  " 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Amy;  "but,"  she 
added,  lowering  her  voice  to  a  whisper, 
"  he  is  very,  very  queer — what  would  be 
called  eccentric.  He  boards  at  Mrs.Cren- 
shaw's,  and  he  is  devoted  to  music — 
though  you  wouldn't  think  so  from  his 
looks,  would  you  ?  The  first  time  I  ever 
saw  him  was  in  just  that  way.  I  was 
sitting  here,  singing,  and  he  looked  over 
the  wall  and  asked  if  I  was  a  thrush  or  a 
nightingale.  The  next  night  Felix  was 
playing,  and  he  put  his  head  in  the  parlor- 
window,  and  said :  '  That  boy  will  make 
a  great  musician  some  day.'  Then  papa 
asked  him  in,  and  he  has  been  coming 
ever  since." 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  that,"  said  March- 
mont. "  How  is  it  possible  for  any  one 
to  keep  away  who  has  once  been  ad- 
mitted to  your  enchanted  garden  ?  If  I 
come  again  very  soon,  will  you  be  sur- 
prised ? " 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should,"  an- 
swered Amy,  blushing. 

"But  if  /know,  is  not  that  enough? 
You  would  not  have  the  heart  to  deny 
me,  if  you  could  imagine  how  dull  I  find 
everything  else." 

He  came  nearer,  and  leaned  his  arm 
on  the  bough  upon  which  she  sat. 

"  Speak !  "  he  said,  smiling.  "  May 
I  return  ?  T)o  you  believe  in  Fate  ?  I 


34 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


do;  and  I  believe  it  has  thrown  us  to- 
gether for  a  purpose." 

"  I  don't  believe  in  Fate  at  all,"  re- 
plied Amy,  who,  young  as  she  was,  had 
a  sufficient  spice  of  coquetry  in  her  to  hold 
her  own;  "but  you  may  come — if  you 
like." 

"  Do  you  doubt  my  liking  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  doubt  it.  I  can  only  sing; 
while  you  must  know  any  number  of 
charming  ladies  who — " 

She  stopped  short,  for  he  was  laugh- 
ing. 

"  So  you  think  you  can  only  sing  ? "  he 
said.  "Does  your  mirror  tell  you  no 
more  than  that  ?  Do  you  not  know  that 
your  face  is  as  uncommon  as  your 
voice  ? " 

The  unmistakable  sincerity  of  his 
words  seemed  to  impress  her.  She  looked 
down  with  half-parted  lips,  a  questioning 
surprise  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  did  not  suppose  that  you  would 
think  so,"  she  said,  simply. 

Then,  as  she  realized  what  her  words 
implied,  the  color  again  rushed  over  her 
face,  and  saying  quickly,  "This  is  all 
nonsense !  "  she  suddenly  made  a  spring 
toward  the  ground. 

In  her  haste  and  confusion  she  was 
awkward.  Her  foot  caught,  and  she 
would  have  fallen  heavily  if  Marchmont 
had  not  been  so  near.  As  it  was,  he  had 
barely  time  to  interpose  and  receive  her 
in  his  arms. 

"  You  see  you  are  punished  for  trying 
to  deprive  me  of  the  pleasure  of  assisting 
you  down,"  he  said,  laughing,  as  she  drew 
back  from  him,  flushed  and  more  lovely 
than  ever.  For  an  instant  he  was  greatly 
tempted  to  snatch  a  kiss,  but  he  felt  in- 
stinctively that  even  this  wild  little  Bohe- 
mian was  woman  enough  to  resent  such  a 
liberty,  and  he  had  no  mind  to  be  ban- 
ished in  earnest.  "You  might  have 
sprained  your  ankle,"  he  went  on,  "  and 
a  sprained  ankle  is  no  joke.  Why  were 
you  in  such  haste  ?  Have  I  made  myself 
disagreeable?  If  so,  it  was  most  uninten- 
tionally. This  garden  is  the  most  delight- 


ful place  I  have  known  in  an  age,  and  has 
but  one  disadvantage — the  probability 
that  Mr.  Trafford's  head  may  appear  over 
the  wall  at  any  time." 

"  It  does  not  appear  very  often,"  said 
Amy.  "  He  is  not  often  at  home." 

"  The  most  desirable  thing  would  be 
that  he  should  take  his  departure  alto- 
gether. One  never  knows  what  course 
the  eccentricities  of  eccentric  people  may 
follow.  A  propos,  what  a  charming  glen 
that  was  in  which  I  first  saw  you !  Do 
you  go  there  only  on  Sunday  ?  " 

"  Not  often  at  any  other  time,  because 
I  do  not  like  to  walk  so  far  alone,  and 
Hugh  can  go  with  me  only  on  Sunday, 
while  Felix  cares  for  nothing  but  the 
piano." 

"Will  you  let  me  be  your  escort  some 
time?  Mr.  Trafford  would  not  be  there, 
and  I  am  sure  we  should  enjoy  it  very 
much." 

This  proposal  took  Amy  by  surprise. 
Even  if  her  social  position  had  been  dif- 
ferent, her  social  experience  much  great- 
er, she  would  have  been  flattered  by  the 
attention  of  this  fine  gentleman,  whose 
appearance  in  Edgerton  had  created  a 
flutter  of  interest  in  what  newspaper 
writers  call  "fashionable  circles."  Being 
what  she  was,  it  seemed  almost  incredible 
that  he  should  distinguish  her  by  his  ad- 
miration, and  she  brightened  and  dimpled 
with  pleasure  as  she  answered : 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  go — if  I 
can." 

"  If  you  can !  Who  will  prevent  your 
doing  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nobody,  I  suppose. — There ! "  as 
a  prolonged  cry  of  "  Miss  Amy  !  "  came 
from  the  region  of  the  house.  "  Clara  is 
calling  me;  I  must  go!  Would  you — 
would  you  mind  if  I  let  you  out  into  the 
lane,  instead  of  taking  you  through  the 
house  again  ?  It  is  shorter,  and  Clara  is 
so  fussy  I " 

"  I  am  in  your  hands ;  do  exactly  what 
you  please  with^me,"  replied  Marchmont, 
who  for  obvious  reasons  preferred  a  quiet 
exit. 


HUGH   RECEIVES   A   COMMISSION. 


35 


He  was  therefore  piloted  to  a  small 
gate  opening  from  the  garden  on  a  nar- 
row lane. 

"We  keep  this  locked  most  of  the 
time,"  said  Amy,  unfastening  it,  "but 
sometimes  we  find  it  conveniently  open." 

"  It  is  very  convenient,"  said  March- 
mont;  "and,  now  that  you  have  showed 
me  the  secret  entrance,  you  need  not  be 
surprised  if  you  see  me  often.  Must  I 
really  go  no w  ?  Is  Clara  a  dragon  ?  Good- 
evening,  then,  and  do  not  forget  that  you 
are  pledged  to  take  a  woodland  ramble." 

"  Amy,"  said  Mariette,  an  hour  or  two 
later,  "see  what  a  pretty  fern  I  found  at 
the  foot  of  our  apple-tree." 

"  Give  it  to  me !  "  said  Amy,  quickly. 
When  the  delicate  frond  was  placed  in  her 
hand,  she  knew  it  to  be  the  one  which  she 
had  seen  in  Marchmont's  button-hole,  and 
which  no  doubt  had  fallen  unnoticed  when 
he  caught  her  as  she  sprang  from  the  tree. 
"It  is  too  pretty  to  throw  away,"  she 
said  to  the  child.  Then  she  ran  to  her 
own  room,  placed  it  carefully  between  the 
leaves  of  a  book,  and  wrote  the  date  on 
the  margin. 

"I  feel  as  if  this  is  the  beginning  of 
life  for  me !  "  she  said,  looking  at  it  with 
the  pencil  between  her  fingers. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

HUGH    RECEIVES    A    COMMISSION. 

IT  is  to  be  supposed  that  Mr.  Archer's 
inquiries  with  regard  to  Hugh  Dinsmore 
were  satisfactory,  for  a  few  days  later  a 
note  was  brought  to  Miss  Waldron,  which 
contained  the  following  lines: 

"  DEAR  Miss  WALDRON  :  This  will  be 
presented  to  you  by  Hugh  Dinsmore,  the 
colorist  of  whom  you  spoke  when  I  last 
saw  you.  He  bears,  as  far  as  I  can  learn, 
an  unblemished  character,  and  deserves 
respect  and  encouragement.  I  have  the 
honor  to  be  your  obedient  servant, 

"HENRY  ARCHER." 


Miss  Waldron,  who  was  sitting  in  the 
library,  laid  down  her  book,  and  said  to 
the  servant : 

"Where  is  the  boy?  " 

"lie  said  he'd  wait  in  the  hall, 
ma'am." 

"  You  should  have  asked  him  into  the 
drawing-room ;  but  no  matter  now — show 
him  in  here." 

A  minute  later  Hugh  entered.  The 
change  from  the  bright  light  of  the  hall 
to  the  subdued  light  of  the  library  made 
him  hesitate  for  an  instant  within  the 
door ;  then  he  saw  the  young  lady  rise, 
and  he  advanced  with  a  not  ungraceful 
bow. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Dinsmore  ?  " 
she  said,  in  her  pleasant,  frank  voice.  "  I 
am  glad  you  have  come.  Pray  sit  down." 

She  indicated  a  chair  as  she  spoke — a 
more  delightful  chair  than  Hugh  had  ever 
in  his  life  occupied  before — and  as  he  sat 
down  he  said : 

"  I  have  come  by  Mr.  Archer's  request, 
Miss  Waldron ;  he  told  me  that  you  wished 
to  see  me." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Miss  Waldron,  noticing 
with  what  an  educated  accent  he  spoke ; 
"  I  requested  Mr.  Archer  to  send  you — 
or,  rather,  to  ask  you  to  come.  I  believe 
you  are  an  artist  ? " 

"  I,  madam  ?  "  said  Hugh.  "  Oh,  no ! 
I  should  like  to  be  one,  if  I  could." 

She  smiled  cordially.  "That  is  the 
right  feeling,"  she  said;  "I  have  no 
doubt  you  will  be  one.  You  are  very 
young  yet.  I  saw  a  photograph  which 
you  colored  the  other  day,  and  it  was  so 
well  done  that  I  thought  I  would  ask  you 
to  touch  up  some  for  me." 

"  I  will  do  it  willingly,"  he  answered. 

"  You  are  sure  you  have  the  time  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  I  paint  at  night.  To  color 
a  photograph  is  nothing;  that  is  not 
artist-work  at  all." 

"  Yet  artists  are  often  colorists." 

"  Perhaps  so — for  money.  But  there 
is  no  satisfaction  in  it.  Do  what  one 
will,  the  hard  outlines,  the  sharp  shades, 
remain." 


36 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


"The  photograph  you  painted,  of 
which  I  speak,  had  less  of  that  than  any 
other  I  ever  saw ;  the  colors  were  so  fine- 
ly and  softly  blended." 

"  Who  was  the  photograph  of?"  he 
asked.  "I  paint  a  great  many." 

"  This  was  of  Meta  Brodnax." 

"  I  remember.  The  commission  came 
directly  from  Miss  Brodnax,  so  I  could 
afford  to  do  my  best.  I  cannot  usually 
afford  to  do  so  for  what  Mr.  Watkins 
pays  me." 

"  Your  best  was  so  admirable,  that  I 
could  scarcely  believe  this  was  a  mere 
photograph  taken  on  paper.  It  looked 
like  a  miniature  painted  on  ivory." 

"  No !  "  said  Hugh,  shaking  his  head. 
"  A  photograph  can  never  look  like  a 
miniature ;  the  artist's  hand  has  done 
everything  there.  And  then,  ivory  is  such 
a  beautiful  thing  to  paint  on — or  must 
be,  I  should  think.  I  have  never  tried  it." 

"Why  not?  It  is  true  that  minia- 
tures are  now  generally  superseded  by 
these  odious  photographs ;  but  there  are 
some  people  who  still  have  sense  enough 
to  desire  an  enduring  picture." 

The  boy  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then 
he  said,  siuply,  "That  may  be;  but  I 
have  never  had  the  ivory  on  which  to 
paint,  nor  the  necessary  instruction.  And 
I  like  oil-colors  best." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Miss  Waldron, 
and,  rising  quickly,  she  left  the  room. 

When  she  returned  she  carried  in  her 
hand  a  casket  which  would  have  delight- 
ed a  virtuoso.  Placing  it  on  the  table  by 
which  Hugh  and  herself  had  been  sitting, 
she  unlocked  it  with  a  small  key  and 
drew  forth  a  miniature  richly  set  in 
pearls  and  attached  to  a  long  gold  chain. 

"  This,"  she  said,  "  is  one  of  our  most 
valuable  family  possessions.  It  is  a  min- 
iature which  was  painted  in  Paris  more 
than  a  century  ago — a  picture  of  the  an- 
cestress after  whom  I  am  named,  Lady 
Beatrix  Waldron.  She  was  named  after 
that  unhappy  princess  who  was  the  sec- 
ond wife  of  James  II.,  and  both  by  birth 
and  marriage  was  identified  with  devoted 


Jacobites.  Her  husband  and  herself  were 
untiring  in  the  cause  of  the  Pretender, 
and  the  former  played  an  important  part 
in  the  ill-fated  campaign  of  1745.  It  was 
owing  to  his  wife's  courage  and  wit  that 
he  finally  escaped  to  France  with  his  head 
on  his  shoulders,  and  there  this  picture 
was  taken.  Soon  after,  like  many  others 
who  followed  the  white  cockade  of  Prince 
Charlie,  they  came  to  America,  where 
their  descendants  live  at  the  present  day. 
See,  how  lovely  she  is!  And  would  you 
not  think  that  the  picture  had  been  paint- 
ed yesterday,  from  the  freshness  and 
clearness  of  its  tints  ?  " 

Hugh  answered  not  a  word.  He  had 
received  the  miniature  in  his  hand,  and 
he  now  stood,  with  his  eyes  fastened  on 
it,  almost  as  if  he  had  been  magnetized. 

"  How  beautiful !  how  beautiful !  "  he 
said  at  last.  "I  never  saw  anything  so 
beautiful  before ! " 

It  certainly  was  exquisitely  painted, 
and  the  subject  was  one  which  had  given 
the  artist's  powers  full  scope.  The  love- 
ly, high-bred  face  with  its  brilliant  com- 
plexion, the  fearless  eyes,  and  rich  brown 
hair  elaborately  coifed  and  dressed  with 
pearls,  the* fair,  uncovered  neck,  and  court- 
dress — each  was  painted  with  a  delicacy 
and  skill  that  were  like  a  revelation  to 
Hugh. 

Miss  Waldron  smiled  kindly  at  his  de- 
light. 

"  I  am  glad  I  showed  it  to  you,"  she 
said.  "  We  are  very  proud  of  our  ances- 
tress, for  her  courage  was  as  great  as  her 
beauty." 

"  She  looks  like  a  princess  and  a  hero- 
ine in  one !  "  said  the  boy.  "  I  am  sure 
she  would  have  died  for  Prince  Charlie !  " 

"Very  likely.  I  have  heard  that  to 
the  day  of  her  death  she  was  an  ardent 
Jacobite.  But  a  thought  has  struck  me ! 
I  think  I  can  give  you  a  better  commis- 
sion than  the  mere  coloring  of  a  few  pho- 
tographs. How  should  you  like  to  copy 
this?" 

"Miss  Waldron,  you  cannot  be  in 
earnest  ? " 


HUGH   RECEIVES  A   COMMISSION. 


37 


"I  am  in  serious  earnest.  Do  you 
think  you  could  do  it?  " 

There  was  a  minute's  pause  before 
he  answered — a  pause  during  which  he 
looked  intently  at  the  picture.  Then  he 
said,  very  slowly: 

"  I  think  I  could." 

"If  you  think  so,  you  shall,"  said  Miss 
"\Valdron.  "  I  have  a  cousin  who  has  long 
coveted  this  miniature,  but  of  course  it  is 
impossible  that  I  could  give  it  to  her.  I 
have  several  times  thought,  however,  that 
I  should  like  to  give  her  a  copy.  Now, 
if  you  can  make  a  faithful  copy,  I  will 
pay  you  a  hundred  dollars.." 

"  Miss  Waldron !  "  said  Hugh,  with  a 
pasp.  Such  a  wonderful  prospect  as  that 
of  making  at  one  stroke  a  hundred  dol- 
lars fairly  took  away  his  breath.  "  Oh,  I 
would  try  my  very  best  to  do  it !  "  he  cried, 
eagerly,  after  a  moment;  "but — but  you 
cannot  mean  to  trust  this  picture  to  me  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  not  ?  See  there !  "— 
she  pushed  Mr.  Archer's  note  toward  him 
— "  that  is  the  character  you  bring  me." 

Hugh  took  the  note  and  read  the  few 
lines,  with  a  flush  mounting  to  his  face. 
Then  he  looked  up,  and,  as  he  was  stand- 
ing just  opposite  the  window,*Miss  Wal- 
dron was  struck  by  the  limpid  candor  of 
his  eyes. 

"Mr.  Archer  is  very  good,"  he  said, 
simply,  "  and,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
your  picture  would  be  safe.  But  there  is 
the  danger  of  accident.  I  hardly  think  I 
dare  take  it." 

"  There  would  be  no  danger  of  acci- 
dent if  you  did  not  tell  any  one  that  you 
had  it,"  said  the  young  lady,  whose  sense 
of  prudence  was  often  overmastered  by 
generous  impulses.  "  Does  any  one  share 
your  room  ? " 

"Not  any  one  at  all.  I  could  have  a 
better  one  if  I  would  share  it,  but  I  can- 
not; I  must  have  privacy  at  any  cost." 

"  And  you  stay — " 

"  At  Mrs.  Sargent's.  It  is  a  very  plain 
house,  but  the  people  are  honest  and 
kind." 

"  Then  I  see  no  possible  reason  why 


you  should  not  take  the  picture.  In  fact, 
I  insist  upon  it.  Frankly,  when  I  sent 
for  you  it  was  with  the  intention  of  offer- 
ing you  the  means  necessary  to  become 
an  artist;  but  since  I  have  seen  you,  I 
am  sure  you  would  rather  earn  money 
than  accept  it." 

"  I  would  very  much  rather  earn  it," 
he  answered,  "  though  I  thank  you  for 
intending  to  offer  it,"  he  added,  with  a 
courtesy  that  surprised  his  listener.  "  I 
am  glad  you  told  me ;  I  have  always  be- 
lieved that  people  who  never  knew  what 
struggle  was  cared  little  for  the  sufferings 
of  those  who  have  never  known  anything 
else ;  but  I  shall  not  think  so  again." 

"  Some  of  us  are  very  careless,"  said 
Miss  Waldron,  "  but  we  often  err  more 
from  want  of  thought  than  want  of  heart. 
By- the- way,  I  believe  you  said  you  have 
no  ivory.  I  will  give  you  some  sheets 
that  I  have.  Some  years  ago,"  she  went 
on,  unheeding  Hugh's  remonstrance,  as 
she  crossed  the  floor  and  opened  the  door 
of  a  cabinet,  "I  took  a  fancy  to  paint 
miniatures.  Of  course  I  failed.  But  I 
have  all  the  necessary  appliances  here,  and 
I  will  hand  them  over  to  you." 

Poor  Hugh  was  so  overcome  by  this 
kindness  that  he  was  fairly  incoherent 
when  he  attempted  to  return  his  thanks ; 
and  when,  after  a  little  longer  talk — in 
the  course  of  which  Miss  Waldron  drew 
forth  all  his  hopes  and  aspirations — he 
went  away,  it  was  with  a  half -incredu- 
lous sense  of  something  too  good  to  be 
true. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  hall  a  carriage 
drew  up  before  the  door,  and,  crossing 
the  portico,  he  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  Miss  Lathrop  and  Brian  March- 
mont. 

The  young  lady  swept  by  with  an  in- 
different glance ;  Marchmont  nodded  care- 
lessly, but  Hugh  did  not  return  the  salu- 
tation. He  lifted  his  hat  to  Miss  Lathrop, 
whom  he  knew  as  the  daughter  of  his 
employer ;  but  he  passed  Marchmont, 
who  was  a  little  behind,  without  the 
least  notice.  That  gentleman  smiled. 


38 


AFTER  MAXT  DAYS. 


"  Is  it  worth  while  to  give  the  unman- 
nerly young  beggar  a  lesson?  "  he  thought. 
"But,  perhaps,  the  hest  lesson  is  the  jeal- 
ousy he  is  suffering  with  regard  to  pretty 
Amy.  So  Archer,  like  a  fool,  sent  him 
Jiere!  But  then,  he  would  do  anything 
to  ingratiate  himself  with  Miss  Waldron. 
— Florence,"  he  said,  as  the  servant  left  his 
cousin  and  himself  in  the  drawing-room, 
"  do  you  know  anything  ahout  that  fel- 
low Archer,  whom  I  met  here  several 
days  ago  ?  " 

"Very  little,"  answered  Miss  Flor- 
ence. "He  does  not  go  into  society  at 
all.  When  he  first  came  to  Edgerton, 
mamma — who  knew  his  mother,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind — tried  to  show  him  a 
little  attention ;  hut  he  repulsed  it  like  a 
hear,  and  since  then  he  has  heen  left 
alone.  By  all  accounts,  he  must  he  to- 
tally unfitted  for  society.  But  why  do  you 
ask?" 

"  Simply  because  it  is  very  evident 
that  he  lifts  his  eyes  and  his  hopes  to  our 
charming  lady  of  the  manor." 

Miss  Florence  opened  her  eyes. 

"Is  it  possible?"  she  said.  "I  am 
certainly  surprised — though  I  don't  know 
why  I  should  be,"  she  added,  philosoph- 
ically. "  All  men  want  to  merry  an  heir- 
ess, and  no  man  believes  there  is  any  dan- 
ger of  his  failing  to  please  a  woman." 

"  Until  he  has  failed  a  few  times,"  said 
Marchmont.  "  Then  he  learns  wisdom, 
if  not  modesty.  But  I  consider  Archer's 
case  one  of  flagrant  presumption,  and  it  is 
a  pity  Miss  Waldron  is  not  aware  of  it, 
that  she  might  administer  an  effectual 
quietus." 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  is  not  aware  of 
it?  "  asked  his  cousin.  "  Women  usually 
know  such  things  long  before  they  let  you 
know  that  they  are  aware  of  them." 

"  I  know  that  the  dull  masculine  mind 
hardly  appreciates  the  quickness  of  the 
feminine  intelligence,"  Marchmont  began, 
with  a  laugh  ;  but  Miss  Waldron's  appear- 
ance just  then  cut  short  his  speech. 

She  looked  very  handsome  as  she  en- 
tered, dressed  in  black  grenadine  and 


black  lace,  with  a  crapy,  rose-colored  tie 
at  her  throat,  a  rich  flush  on  her  cheeks,  a 
bright  light  in  her  eyes. 
.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  she  had 
seen  Marchmont  since  his  declaration  in 
the  fernery,  so  her  manner  was  altogether 
composed  as  she  shook  hands  with  him, 
after  greeting  Miss  Lathrop. 

"I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  both 
come,"  she  said,  presently.  "I  want  to 
ask  you  about  my  birthday  entertain- 
ment. Papa  insists,  as  usual,  on  a  hall — 
though  I  tell  him  that  I  am  growing  too 
old  for  such  frivolities — but  he  does  not 
object  to  anything  else  that  I  please  being 
added.  We  had  theatricals  last  year,  you 
know,  Florence,  so  I  have  thought  of  a 
concert — a  kind  of  musical  fete.  What  do 
you  think  of  it?"  • 

"  I  think  that  you  will  find  it  very  dif- 
ficult to  accomplish,"  replied  Miss  Flor- 
ence. "Singers  will  be  even  harder  to 
find  than  actors — and  harder  to  manage, 
too." 

"  That  they  could  not  possibly  be," 
said  Miss  Waldron,  laughing.  "  The  man- 
aging, however,  will  fall  on  the  director's 
shoulders — and  he  is  equal  to  it." 

"Mr.  Reynolds,  you  mean?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Reynolds.  He  is  perma- 
nently director  of  the  Cecilia  Society,  and 
he  tells  me  that  any  or  all  the  members  of 
it  will  assist.  Since  the  society  comprises 
the  best  musical  talent  in  Edgerton,  that 
settles  the  question  of  performers." 

"Pray,"  said  Marchmont,  "does  Mr. 
Reynolds's  daughter  belong  to  the  Cecilia 
Society  ?  She  has  one  of  the  finest  voices 
I  ever  heard — the  purest,  most  silvery  so- 
prano." 

"Little  Amy?"  said  Miss  Waldron, 
in  a  tone  of  surprise.  "I  had  no  idea  of 
it." 

"  I  have  heard  something  of  her 
voice,"  said  Miss  Florence ;  "  but  she  cer- 
tainly does  not  belong  to  the  Cecilia. 
They  are  all  of  our  class." 

"I  suppose  she  would  hardly  contam- 
inate them,"  said  Marchmont.  "And  real- 
ly"— turning  to  Miss  Waldron — "if  you 


"SO  LONG  AS  YOU  ARE  AMUSED." 


39 


want  to  signalize  your  fete  by  bringing 
out  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude,  get  little 
Amy,  as  you  call  her,  to  sing  for  you." 

"  Is  her  voice  really  so  good  ? " 

"  It  is  really  most  remarkable." 

"And  how  did  you  find  out  about  it, 
Brian?"  asked  Miss  Florence,  curiously. 

"  I  heard  her  accidentally  first,"  said 
Marchmont,  carelessly.  "Since  .then  I 
have  been  to  Mr.  Eeynolds's  house  once 
or  twice  for  the  pleasure  of  listening  to 
her." 

"And  looking  at  her,  perhaps,"  said 
Miss  Waldron,  smiling.  "  She  is  very 
pretty. — Thank  you  for  the  information, 
Mr.  Marchmont ;  I  will  act  on  it  at  once. 
Perhaps  it  may  benefit  her  to  bring  her 
voice  into  notice,"  she  added. 

"  So  you  want  another  protegee  ?  "  said 
Marchmont.  "  Are  you  not  satisfied  with 
the  one  whom  I  met  going  out? " 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Miss  Florence. 
— "  "Was  that  shabby  boy  a  protege  of 
yours,  Beatrix  ?  I  thought,  of  course,  he 
had  merely  come  on  an  errand." 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  shabby 
boy  will  make  a  remarkable  man  some 
day,"  said  Miss  Waldron.  "  He  certainly 
has  great  talent  for  painting.  I  saw  some 
of  his  work  not  long  ago,  and  I  asked 
Mr.  Archer  to  inquire  about  his  character, 
and,  if  it  was  good,  to  send  him  here." 

"Mr.  Archer — ah!"  said  Miss  Flor- 
ence, glancing  at  her  cousin. 

"  I  have  given  him  a  kind  of  test-com- 
mission," Miss  Waldron  went  on.  "  It 
will  show  his  power,  enable  me  to  help 
him,  and  serve  to  educate  him  in  art — all 
at  the  same  time.  He  is  to  copy  the 
miniature  of  my  ancestress,  Lady  Bea- 
trix, which  you  have  often  admired,  Flor- 
ence." 

"What!    that  picture?     O  Beatrix!  " 

"  Well"— with  a  laugh—"  why  should 
not  that  picture  be  copied  as  well  as  an- 
other?" 

"  But  how  absurd — pray  excuse  me ! 
— to  imagine  that  he  could  copy  it,  or  to 
trust  anything  so  valuable  in  his  hands ! 
— Brian,  have  you  ever  seen  it?  No? 


That  is  a  pity,  for  it  is  the  loveliest  thing 
imaginable,  and  is  set  in  pearls  worth  a 
fortune." 

"  My  dear  Florence,  pray  be  mod- 
erate !  The  pearls  are  beautiful,  but  they 
do  not  by  any  means  represent  a  for- 
tune." 

"  And  is  it  possible,"  said  Marchmont, 
with  a  look  of  amazement,  "  that  you  have 
trusted  such  a  thing  to  the  boy  whom  I 
met?" 

"  I  trusted  it  to  him — yes.  I  am  sure 
he  is  honest." 

"  But — pardon  me ! — how  can  you  pos- 
sibly be  sure  ?  There  is  every  presump- 
tion against  his  honesty,  and  the  tempta- 
tion is  immense.  Let  me  urge  you  to 
reclaim  the  picture  at  once !  " 

"Yes — pray  do!  "  pleaded  Miss  Flor- 
ence. "  Think  how  dreadful  it  would  be 
if  he  ran  away  with  it !  Really,  Beatrix, 
I  am  astonished  at  you  I  " 

"Honestly,"  said  Miss  Waldron,  "if 
I  had  taken  time  for  thought,  I  might 
not  have  given  him  the  picture;  but  I 
cannot  reclaim  it  now.  I  feel  sure  of  his 
honesty,  and  I  could  not  seem  to  suspect 
him." 

"It  would  be  better  to  do  that  than 
to  lose  the  picture,"  urged  her  friend. 

"I  have  no  fear  of  losing  it. — Mr. 
Marchmont,  can  you  suggest  anything 
very  effective  for  the  programme  of  my 
|  fete  ?  Mr.  Eeynolds  suggests  a  cantata, 
but  I  fear  that  would  be  too  long,  and 
weary,  more  than  entertain,  an  audience 
longing  for  dancing." 

"I  think  a  concert  selection  would  be 
better, ' '  said  March  mont ;  "  but  y  our  o  w  n 
ideas,  I  am  sure,  are  good.  Let  us  have 
them!" 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

"SO   LOSTO  AS  YOU  ARE   AMUSED." 

"You  don't  seem  glad  of  my  good 
fortune,  Amy,"  said  Hugh,  in  rather  a 
wounded  tone. 


40 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


They  were  in  the  garden  together, 
these  two  young  people,  as  the  day  died 
softly  away  into  dusk,  and  in  the  western 
sky  the  sunset  built  a  gorgeous  temple  of 
fretted  gold  and  jasper,  with  vivid  crim- 
son melting  into  softest  rose  on  the  long 
lines  of  vapor. 

Over  their  heads  hiing  a  canopy  of  ten- 
der green  foliage,  while  neither  thought 
of  dew  in  connection  with  the  fragrant 
grass  on  which  they  sat. 

In  response  to  Hugh's  last  speech 
Amy  looked  up,  and  the  dreamy  expres- 
sion, which  had  of  late  become  habitual 
in  her  eyes,  faded  out  of  them,  as  she 
said : 

"  Yes,  I  am  glad,  Hugh,  but — I  wish 
it  had  come  in  another  way.  If  I  were 
you,  I  would  not  like  the  idea  of  being 
patronized ;  and  that  is  what  Miss  Wal- 
dron  is  doing." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  Hugh  replied; 
but  the  color  mounted  to  his  sensitive 
face.  "Patronage  means  something  of- 
fensive, but  Miss  Waldron  only  intends 
to  be  kind.  Of  course,  she  desires  to  as- 
sist me,  and  makes  an  opportunity  to  do 
so;  but  why  should  I  object  to  that?  I 
would  not  accept  charity,  but  it  would 
surely  be  misplaced  pride  to  refuse  assist- 
ance." • 

Amy  made  a  slight,  petulant  motion 
with  her  shoulders, 

"That  may  be  the  way  you  look  at 
it,"  she  said,  "but  /never  mean  to  be  in- 
debted to  anybody  for  anything.  Above 
all,  I  would  not  be  indebted  to  one  of 
those  arrogant  Edgerton  people !  " 

"  I  doubt  if  people  here  are  more  ar- 
rogant than  people  anywhere  else,"  said 
Hugh,  quietly ;  "  and  Miss  Waldron  is 
not  arrogant  at  all.  She  is  as  kind  and 
simple — " 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  anything  about 
her,"  interrupted  Amy.  "You  may  fall 
in  love  with  her  if  you  like,  but  please 
don't  bore  me  with  her  praises." 

"  Fall  in  love  with  her ! "  repeated 
Hugh,  with  a  laugh.  "That  is  a  good 
joke!  Honor  bright,  Amy,  don't  you 


know  that  I  never  have  been,  and  never 
shall  be,  in  love  with  but  one  person?  " 

"Nonsense,  Hugh!  you  are  a  boy, 
and  don't  know  your  own  mind,"  replied 
Amy,  with  discouraging  carelessness. 

"You  are  mistaken  about  that,"  said 
Hugh,  who  was  well  used  to  snubbing. 
"I  know  my  mind  a  great  deal  better 
than  many  men,  and  before  long  I  shall 
~be  a  man.  Then,  perhaps,  you'll  listen  to 
me." 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  Amy,  with  the 
calmness  of  superior  wisdom,  "  before 
you  have  finished  learning  how  to  paint, 
I  shall  be  a  queen  of  the  lyric  stage.  Mr. 
March — " 

Here  ehe  stopped  short,  and  either  a 
glow  from  the  sunset  sky  suddenly  fell 
over  her  face,  or  else  a  blush  dyed  it. 

"  Well,"  said  Hugh,  in  a  tone  of  very 
poorly-concealed  irritation,  "  what  has 
your  oracle,  Mr.  Marchmont,  told  you 
now  ? " 

"Nothing  that  would  interest  you," 
she  answered,  with  an  attempt  at  dignity. 
"  You  are  so  prejudiced  against  him  that 
it  is  not  worth  while  to  repeat  anything 
he  has  said." 

"I  am  not  prejudiced  against  him," 
said  Hugh.  "  Why  should  I  be?  But  I 
know  that  his  coming  here  does  you  no 
good ;  and  I  doubt  if  your  father  knows 
how  often  he  does  come." 

"Hugh,  how  dare  you!  "  cried  Amy, 
with  wrathful  lightning  gathering  in  her 
eyes. 

"I  would  dare  a  great  deal,  Amy,  to 
save  you  from  any  harm,"  answered  Hugh, 
gravely.  "  You  don't  know — you  are  so 
young,  and  have  no  mother — how  people 
will  talk  if  Mr.  Marchmont  continues  to 
come  here  so  much.  Oh,  you  may  be  as 
angry  with  me  as  you  like — I  do  not 
care  how  angry  you  are,  if  it  makes  you 
consider." 

"  What  should  I  consider  ?  "  demanded 
Amy,  so  angry  that  her  cheeks  were 
ablaze  with  crimson.  "  What  is  Edger- 
ton to  me?  I  don't  care  a  straw  if 
people  talk  till  their  tongues  drop  out!  " 


SO   LONG  AS  YOU  ARE   AMUSED." 


"  I  think  you  would  care  if  you  knew," 
said  Hugh.  "And  "your  father — I  am 
sure  he  would  care.  He  works  so  hard, 
and  is  so  busy,  that  he  has  not  time 
to  look  after  you ;  but  you  are  old 
enough  to  take  care  of  yourself.  Amy, 
dear,  promise  me  not  to  let  that  man 
come  here  any  more!  " 

In  his  eagerness  he  leaned  forward 
and  caught  one  of  the  girl's  hands,  hold- 
ing it  firmly  in  both  his  own.  His  eyes 
gazed  at  her  with  an  almost  passionate 
pleading ;  but  it  was  a  pleading  which, 
instead  of  touching  her  heart,  only  made 
her  wrath  wax  higher.  She  snatched 
her  hand  away,  and  looked  at  him  with  a 
glance  which  the  poor  fellow  remembered 
long  afterward. 

"  I  have  borne  a  great  deal  from  you," 
she  said,  "  but  I  will  not  bear  this !  You 
have  no  right  to  talk  so  to  me !  If  you 
want  to  make  mischief,  you  had  better 
go  and  tell  papa  that  people  are  talking 
— oh,  how  I  hate  them !  "  she  cried,  with 
the  small  hands  clinched,  the  bright  eyes 
flashing  fire ;  "  but  it  is  useless  to  come 
to  me.  You  are  jealous  of  Mr.  March- 
mont — I  dare  you  to  deny  it ! — and  that 
is  what  your  warning  means." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Hugh.  "  I 
am  not  jealous  of  him  in  the  way  you 
mean,  but  I  am  sure  he  will  bring  trouble 
on  you,  one  way  or  another,  if  you  don't 
take  care.  Do  you  know  what  has 
brought  him  to  Edgerton,  and  keeps  him 
here  ?  He  is  courting  Miss  "Waldron  for 
her  money — some  people  say  he  is  en- 
gaged to  her — and  yet,  while  he  is  doing 
this,  he  comes  day  after  day  and  spends 
hours  here,  pretending  to  hear  you  sing !  " 

"It  is  none  of  your  business  if  he 
does!  "cried  Amy,  exasperated  beyond 
all  thought  of  forbearance.  "If  you 
have  nothing  more  agreeable  to  say  than 
this,  I — I  shall  go  into  the  house." 

"Never  mind;  I  will  spare  you  the 
trouble  by  going  myself.  I  have  to  leave, 
anyway,  for  I  have  no  time  to  spare 
from  my  painting.  I  only  dropped  in  to 
tell  you  the  news  about  Miss  "Waldron's 


kindness.  I  have  spoken  the  honest 
truth,  and  I  wish — oh !  I  wish  very  much 
that  you  would  heed  it.  Good-evening. 
I  don't  know  when  I  can  come  again." 

He  went  away  with  a  wistful  look, 
which  had  no  effect  whatever  upon  Amy. 
She  sent  one  scorching  glance  after  the 
small,  spare  figure ;  then,  with  a  shiver 
of  passion  that  shook  her  whole  frame, 
burst  into  a  storm  of  tears. 

Unconscious  of  the  tempest  he  left 
behind,  Hugh  passed  through  the  garden 
and  into  the  house.  He  had  long  been 
in  the  habit  of  coming  and  going  like  one 
of  the  family,  so  no  one  regarded  him 
at  present  except  Felix,  who' cried  from 
the  dining-room :  "  Come  to  supper. 
Hugh!  "What  are  you  going  away  for? 
And  why  don't  Amy  come  in  ?  " 

"I  don't  care  for  supper  to-night, 
Felix ;  thank  you ! "  Hugh  answered,  as 
he  let  himself  out  of  the  front-door. 

He  spoke  so  truly,  that  he  did  not 
even  think  of  turning  his  steps  toward 
his  boarding-house,  but  walked  slowly  in 
the  opposite  direction,  toward  the  sub- 
urbs of  the  town.  Before  he  reached 
the  open  country  the  sunset  splendor  had 
faded,  and  only  a  faint,  soft  glow  re- 
mained to  show  where  it  had  been ;  but 
the  mingling  of  twilight  and  moonlight 
— for  in  the  eastern  heavens  hung  the 
silver,  three-quarter  moon — was  very 
lovely,  and  might  have  tempted  to  linger- 
ing one  less  keenly  alive  to  beauty. 

Yet,  although  he  felt  the  beauty,  it  is 
certain  that  Hugh  was  not  thinking  of  it. 
In  truth,  he  could  think  of  nothing  save 
the  scene  in  Mr.  Keynolds's  garden  and 
Amy's  passionate  resentment  of  his  warn- 
ing. He  had  considered  deeply  before 
he  offered  this  warning,  and,  now  that  it 
had  been  received  in  such  a  manner,  he 
hardly  knew  what  else  to  do.  He  might 
speak  to  Mr.  Reynolds,  as  Amy  had  an- 
grily suggested ;  but  would  that  help 
matters?  Would  his  opinion  be  likely 
to  have  any  weight  with  the  musician  ? — 
while  he  felt  certain  that  Amy  would 
never  forgive  such  a  step. 


AFTER  MANY   DATS. 


"What  can  I  do?"  he  thought. 
"Amy  would  not  have  been  so  angry  if 
she  was  not  beginning  to  care  for  the 
fellow  ;  and  he  may  be  a  scoundrel  of  the 
worst  kind,  for  all  she  ,knows.  It  seems 
to  me  that  if  he  was  not,  he  would  surely 
think  of  the  harm  he  is  doing  by  filling 
her  head  with  all  manner  of  foolish  ideas 
and  hopes.  But,  then,  some  people  never 
think  of  anything  but  amusing  them- 
selves, and  he  may  be  one  of  that  sort. 
What  if  I  were  to  speak  to  him  ?  But  I 
hardly  think  there  would  be  any  good  in 
that ;  and  where  would  I  find  an  oppor- 
tunity to  do  so  ?  " 

It  was  a  boy's  idea,  altogether  foolish 
and  impractical,  but  Hugh  could  not  ban- 
ish it  from  his  mind  after  it  had  once 
suggested  itself.  Miss  Waldron's  words 
rose  in  his  memory,  "  Some  of  us  are  very 
careless,  but  we  often  err  more  from 
want  of  thought  than  want  of  heart." 

Was  it  from  want  of  thought  that 
Marchmont  was  acting?  If  so,  a  word 
might  be  enough — a  word  might  rouse 
the  chivalry  of  his  nature,  and  make  him, 
of  his  own  accord,  discontinue  the  visits 
that  had  already  set  the  gossiping  tongues 
at  work. 

Hugh  absently  seated  himself  on  a 
stile  as  he  made  these  reflections,  and, 
with  his  face  turned  to  the  fading  glory 
of  the  west,  he  did  not  observe  that  a 
pedestrian  was  crossing  the  field  behind 
him — a  man  young,  slender,  well-dressed 
— in  a  word,  Brian  Marchmont. 

This  gentleman  had  left  Cedarwood 
a  few  minutes  before,  pleading  an  en- 
gagement in  Edgerton  which  would  not 
allow  him  to  accept  the  general's  hospita- 
ble invitation  to  remain  to  dinner  ;  and 
as  he  walked  across  the  sweet-smelling 
fields  in  the  soft  gloaming,  he  had  a  com- 
fortable sense  of  satisfaction  with  regard 
to  his  affairs,  immediate  and  future.  He 
had  very  nearly  won  all  that  he  desired 
from  Miss  Waldron,  and  he  felt  thor- 
oughly assured  that  securing  her  definite 
promise  to  be  his  wife  was  only  a  ques- 
tion of  time. 


Then,  breaking  the  monotony  of 
courtship,  there  was  Amy — pretty,  win- 
some Amy — to  amuse  his  leisure  hours 
with  the  piquant  flavor  of  her  Bohenri- 
anism. 

"  The  blossoms  of  the  garden  are  all 
very  well,"  he  said  to  himself,  "espe- 
cially such  a  stately  rose  as  Beatrix ;  but 
variety  is  the  spice  of  life,  and  now  and 
then  one  likes  to  gather  a  wild-flower 
from  the  woods." 

Owing  to  the  association  of  ideas,  he 
was,  half  unconsciously,  humming  one  of 
Amy's  songs  as  he  drew  near  the  stile — 
a  song  which  Hugh  knew  so  well  that, 
hearing  it,  he  turned  abruptly  and  faced 
the  man  who  was  at  that  moment  in  his 
thoughts. 

The  boy's  heart  seemed  to  rise  up  in 
his  throat.  Here,  in  the  most  unexpected 
manner,  was  the  opportunity  he  had  been 
esteeming  out  of  his  reach !  Should  he 
use  it  ?  He  had  only  a  minute  in  which 
to  answer  this  question.  There  was  no 
time  for  reasoning  or  reflection ;  instinct 
alone  had  to  settle  the  matter,  and  instinct 
bade  him  act. 

He  stepped  down  from  the  stile,  and 
as  Marchmont,  having  swung  himself 
over,  was  about  to  pass  without  the  least 
token  of  recognition,  he  gathered  his 
courage,  and  said : 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me,  Mr.  March- 
mont, I  should  like  to  speak  to  you." 

Marchmont  paused,  and,  with  a  great 
deal  of  hauteur  mingled  with  surprise  on 
his  face,  he  said,  curtly  : 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  in  an  instant  what  I 
want,"  Hugh  replied.  "  First,  let  me  say 
that  my  name  is  Dinsmore." 

"  I  remember  you,"  Marchmont  an- 
swered. "  I  never  forget  a  face.  Pray, 
Mr.  Dinsmore,  what  possible  business 
have  you  with  me  ?  " 

There  was  so  much  Irusquerie  in  the 
tone  of  this  question,  that  Hugh  felt  in- 
clined to  reply,  "  I  have  no  business  what- 
ever," and  go  his  way.  But  the  thought 
of  Amy  checked  the  impulse. 


"SO   LONG  AS   YOU  ARE  AMUSED." 


43 


There  was  nothing  he  would  not  en- 
dure for  her  sake ;  and  surely  if  this  man 
knew  the  harm  he  was  working,  his  man- 
hood would  assert  itself  in  her  behalf, 
and  he  would  find  some  amusement  for 
his  idle  hours  fraught  with  less  serious 
consequences.  This  consideration  gave 
Hugh  patience,  and,  lifting  his  clear  eyes 
to  the  haughty,  handsome  face,  he  said, 
calmly : 

"  My  business  with  you  is  simply  this : 
I  am  a  friend  of  Amy  Reynolds,  and  I 
want  to  tell  you  that  you  are  doing  her  a 
great  injury  in  bestowing  so  much  time 
and  attention  on  her.  Gossips  are  al- 
ready beginning  to  talk  about  it,  and  a 
man  like  you  must  know  what  a  misfor- 
tune it  is  to  a  young  girl  for  her  name  to 
be  on  light  tongues  and  in  evil  mouths." 

"By  Jove!  "  said  Marchmont. 

The  exclamation  was  entirely  involun- 
tary, and  addressed  to  himself,  being  an 
expression  of  irrepressible  surprise  at  the 
audacity  of  this  shabby  stripling.  Then 
he  laughed,  and  the  scornful,  contempt- 
uous cadence  made  every  drop  of  blood 
in  Hugh's  veins  tingle. 

"My  young  friend,"  he  said,  coolly, 
"allow  me  to  inform  you  that  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  attend  to  your  own 
affairs.  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  very 
jealous,  but  you  can  hardly  expect  to 
serve  your  cause  by  such  absurdity  as  this. 
Pretty  little  Amy  and  I  understand  each 
other ;  that  ought  to  be  enough.  If  it  is 
not,  so  much  the  worse — for  you." 

With  these  words  he  was  passing  care- 
lessly on,  when  Hugh,  quivering  with  in- 
dignation and  fearless  as  a  lion,  placed 
himself  in  his  path. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  do  not  care 
what  people  say  of  Amy,  so  long  as  you 
are  amused  ?  "  he  asked.  "  If  that  is  the 
case,  I  tell  you  to  your  face,  Mr.  March- 
mont, that  you  are  no  gentleman !  You 
know  that  you  want  to  marry  Miss  Wal- 
dron,  and  yet  you  are  trying  to  win 
Amy's  heart  in  the  most  dishonorable—" 

"You  are  an  insolent  young  fool!" 
said  Marchmont. 


He  had  no  cane  in  his  hand,  else  Hugh 
might  have  fared  badly ;  but,  slight  as  he 
looked,  he  was  very  muscular,  and  taking 
the  boy  by  the  collar,  he  flung  him  with 
great  force  into  the  middle  of  the  road. 
Then,  without  pausing  to  see  what  was 
the  result  of  this  stringent  measure,  he 
walked  on  rapidly  toward  the  town. 

Hugh  lay  motionless  where  he  had 
been  thrown — stunned  into  unconscious- 
ness by  the  heavy  fall — and  he  had  not 
yet  stirred  when,  a  minute  later,  a  horse- 
man came  cantering  down  the  road. 

The  horse  first  perceived  the  odd, 
dark,  crumpled  heap  lying  in  the  moon- 
light, and  promptly  bolted.  His  rider, 
having  checked  him  up  shortly,  looked 
round  for  the  cause  of  the  fright.  He, 
too,  perceived  then  the  dark  figure,  and 
muttering,  "Some  drunkard  lying  there 
to  be  run  over,"  dismounted,  and  throw- 
ing the  rein  over  his  arm,  approached, 
and,  bending  down,  lifted  the  boy's  face. 

"  What — Dinsmore !  "  he  said  aloud,  in 
a  tone  of  surprise.  "Why,  he  is  badly 
hurt !  "  he  added,  quickly,  as  he  found  his 
hand  wet  from  the  blood  which  was  trick- 
ling from  a  cut  on  the  forehead. 

As  he  spoke  Hugh's  consciousness  re- 
turned, and,  opening  his  eyes,  he  looked 
up,  half  dazed. 

"  I  want  no  assistance  from  you,  Mr. 
Marchmont,"  he  said.  "  You  are  a  cow- 
ard." 

"I  am  not  Mr.  Marchmont,"  said  a 
voice  that  recalled  his  scattered  senses. 
"  I  found  you  lying  here  insensible.  .What 
has  happened,  Hugh  ? " 

"  Oh,  you  are  Mr.  Archer,"  said  Hugh. 
"  I — beg  your  pardon.  Have  I  been  here 
long,  I  wonder?  Thank  you,  I  think  I 
can  get  up." 

With  Archer's  assistance  he  rose  to 
his  feet,  and,  though  still  trembling  from 
the  nervous  shock,  stood  erect,  stanching 
with  a  handkerchief  the  blood  which 
flowed  from  the  cut  on  his  brow. 

"What  has  happened?"  Archer  re- 
peated. "How  did  you  come  to  be  in 
such  a  situation?  Lucky  for  you,  my 


44 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


horse  bolted,  or  I  should  have  ridden  over 
you,  for  I  was  looking  toward  the  lights 
of  the  town,  and  noticing  little  of  the 
road." 

There  was  an  instant's  silence  hefore 
Hugh  answered.  Then  he  looked  up  and 
said,  quietly :  "  I  would  rather  not  tell  you 
anything  about  it,  Mr.  Archer.  I  am 
obliged  to  you.  for  helping  me.  I  think  I 
can  walk  back  into  town  now." 

"You  had  better  ride  my  horse,"  said 
Archer,  looking  at  him  keenly.  "You 
have  had  a  severe  blow." 

"Only  from  the  fall,"  said  Hugh. 
"  There  is  no  need  for  me  to  ride,  thank 
you.  I  am  used  to  walking,  and  I  shall 
be  all  right  in  a  little  while." 

Archer  did  not  press  the  matter  any 
further — indeed,  it  was  never  his  way  to 
press  anything  .on  people  which  they  were 
unwilling  to  receive.  But,  as  he  mounted 
his  horse  and  rode  away,  he  felt  consider- 
ably puzzled.  The  last  person  in  the 
world  whom  he  would  have  supposed 
Hugh  likely  to  come  in  contact  with  was 
Brian  Marchmont ;  yet  Hugh  had  plainly 
mistaken  him  for  Marchmont,  and  had 
uttered  words  not  easily  forgotten.  "  He 
meant  them,  too,"  Archer  said  to  him- 
self. "It  is  very  odd!  I*  Marchmont 
was  the  person  who  knocked  him  down 
and  left  him  senseless,  what  could  possi- 
bly have  been  the  provocation  ?  Surely  I 
did  not  make  a  mistake  when  I  recom- 
mended the  boy  to  Miss  "Waldron !  Every 
one  speaks  of  him  as  quiet  and  inoffensive 
in  the.  extreme." 

Having  left  Hugh  without  even  a 
backward  glance  to  see  whether  or  not  he 
recovered  from  the  stunning  fall  he  had 
received,  Mr.  Marchmont  walked  into  Edg- 
erton,  his  usually  well -moderated  pulses 
beating  with  an  excitement  which,  to  say 
the  least,  was  not  pleasurable. 

This  was  a  result  he  had  not  bargained 
for  while  spending  the  idle  hours  in  light 
flirtation  with  the  musician's  pretty 
daughter.  To  be  called  to  account 
by  "an  insolent  errand-boy,"  as  in  his 


thoughts  he  characterized  Hugh,  was  cer- 
tainly a  novel  and  not  an  agreeable  expe- 
rience. He  laughed  over  it,  but  the  laugh 
had  no  ring  of  real  mirth.  With  the  best 
intentions,  Hugh  had  done  the  worse  thing 
possible  for  Amy;  he  had  waked  the 
slumbering  devil  in  Marchmont's  nature. 
and  converted  what  had  before  been  only 
amusement  into  deadly  earnest. 

It  was,  however,  characteristic  of  the 
sybarite  nature  of  the  man  that  he  shook 
off  annoyances  as  a  Newfoundland  dog 
shakes  off  water ;  though  putting  aside 
the  annoyance  by  no  means  implied  put- 
ting aside  the  purpose  it  had  wakened.  His 
engagement  in  Edgerton  was  with  two  or 
three  gay  young  gentlemen  who  chanced 
to  be  passing  through  the  town — friends, 
or  at  least  intimate  acquaintances,  whom 
he  had  accidentally  encountered.  In  the 
course  of  the  convivial  evening  which  en- 
sued, no  one  entertained  the  faintest  sus- 
picion that  anything  had  occurred  to  ruf- 
fle the  easy  tranquillity  of  his  spirits  or 
cast  the  least  weight  upon  his  mind.  In 
truth,  Mr.  Marchmont's  spirits  and  mind 
were  not  readily  affected  by  insignificant 
trifles,  and  in  this  class  he  included  his 
flirtation  with  Amy,  and  Hugh's  interfer- 
ence therewith. 

Had  Amy  been  aware  of  this,  she 
might  have  spared  herself  some  Juliet-like 
fancies,  as  she  sat  by  the  parlor-window, 
looking  at  the  moon  sailing  through  an  iris 
sky,  while  silver  lights  and  broad,  sharp- 
cut  shadows  made  up  the  world  below. 

Immersed  in  clouds  of  tobacco-smoke, 
her  father  and  Herr  Meerbach  were  talk- 
ing, while  Felix,  with  a  touch  of  masterly 
power  and  sweetness,  was  playing  the 
"  "Walpurgis  Night."  The  dreamy  strains 
floated  by  Amy  almost  unheard.  Her 
heart — the  foolish  heart  of  sixteen — was 
throbbing  with  pain  and  doubt. 

Could  it  be  true  that  Marchmont  was 
a  suitor  of  Miss  "Waldron's?  Hugh  had 
said  so ;  but  Hugh  was  not  likely  to  be 
well  informed  with  regard  to  such  mat- 
ters, and,  besides,  he  was  jealous. 

"  I  cannot  believe  it !  "  she  thought, 


MR.   TRAFFORD   OFFERS  ADVICE. 


45 


passionately ;  then,  with  a  spasmodic 
effort,  common-sense  asserted  itself,  as 
she  added,  mentally,  "  What  is  it  to  me  ? 
Mr.  Marchmont  has  never  done  anything 
except  admire  my  singing  and  say  I  am 
pretty.  I  am  a  fool  to  think  anything 
about  him,  or  care  if  he  marries  Miss 
Waldron  to-morrow !  She  is  rich  and 
handsome,  and  has  been  everywhere  and 
seen  everything.  Oh  !  "  —  the  long- 
drawn  sigh  ending  in  spoken  words — ':  I 
wish  I  was  rich !  " 

"Perhaps  you  may  be,  some  day," 
said  a  quiet,  unexpected  voice  very  near 
at  hand. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ME.    TRAFFORD   OFFERS   ADVICE. 

AMY  started,  and  turned  her  head ; 
but  it  was  no  Mephistopheles  who  stood 
at  her  elbow,  ready  to  gratify  her  long- 
ings by  driving  a  bargain  for  the  ultimate 
possession  of  her  soul.  As  far  removed 
as  possible  from  that  sulphuric  personage 
was  the  pleasant,  good-humored  face  that 
met  her  glance — the  face  of  a  gentleman 
who  had  paused  by  the  window  and  looked 
with  amusement  at  the  pretty,  wistful 
countenance  on  which  the  moonlight  fell 
broadly. 

"O  Mr.  Trafford!"  she  said;  "I 
didn't  know  I  spoke  so  loud  that  any  one 
could  hear  my  foolish  wish !  " 

"Not  any  one,"  replied  Mr.  Trafford, 
"  but  I  was  close  at  hand,  and  so  I  heard 
it.  I  am  not  sure  about  its  foolishness," 
he  added,  smiling.  "  Wishing  for  riches 
is  sometimes  a  first  step  toward  obtaining 
them." 

"  I  shall  be  rich  some  day,"  said  Amy, 
confidently.  "I  am  certain  of  that.  But 
I  want  to  be  so  now." 

"  You  want  the  prize  before  you  have 
won  it  ?  I  am  surprised  at  you  !  " 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  of  half-laughing 
banter,  as  to  a  child ;  but  Amy  looked  up 
gravely  in  his  face. 


"  I  was  reading,  the  other  day,"  she 
said,  "  that  alter  we  have  worked  a  long 
time  for  a  prize,  when  at  last  we  gain  it, 
it  has  lost  its  value.  If  we  could  only 
have  things  at  the  start,  and  not  wait  to 
be  tired  out,  how  much  better  it  would 
be!" 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Trafford,  with  a  long 
puff  at  the  meerschaum  which,  as  usual, 
he  was  smoking,  "I  am  not  sure  about 
that.  Without  being  much  of  a  moralist, 
I  have  generally  found  that  there's  a  good 
reason  for  most  things.  If  we  gained 
what  we  desire  '  at  the  start,'  as  you  say, 
we  should  not  only  miss  the  discipline  of 
labor,  but  often  get  a  great  many  worth- 
less prizes.  Suppose  you  come  and  take 
a  turn  round  the  square,  and  I  will  give 
you  an  instance  of  that  from  my  personal 
experience? " 

Amy  was  nothing  loath.  She  was 
tired  of  the  house  and  everybody  in  it. 
There  was  something  of  novelty  in  a 
moonlight  stroll  with  Mr.  Trafford,  and 
his  promise  to  relate  a  "  personal  experi- 
ence "  wakened  her  curiosity.  She  slipped 
out  of  the  parlor,  and  in  a  minute  stood 
on  the  pavement  by  his  side. 

"Had  you  not  better  put  something 
on  your  head  ?  "  he  suggested,  looking  at 
her.  "N"o?  It  is  true,  you  have  no  neu- 
ralgia or  rheumatism  to  dread  yet  a  while. 
I  hope  you  don't  object  to  my  pipe?  I 
came  out  to  smoke." 

She  laughed.  "  I've  been  sitting  in  a 
room  with  two  pipes,"  she  said,  "so  I 
could  hardly  object  to  one  in  the  open 
air.  I  rather  like  the  odor  of  good  tobac- 
co, if  there  isn't  too  much  of  it.  Oh, 
what  a  heavenly  night !  "  she  added,  with 
a  soft  sigh. 

"Very  pretty,"  said  Mr.  Trafford, 
glancing  round.  "  To-morrow  night  the 
moon  will  be  full." 

"  I  am  always  sorry  for  the  moon  to 
be  full,"  said  Amy,  "because  then  it  be- 
gins to  decline.  I  wish  matters  had  been 
arranged  so  that  we  could  have  a  moon 
all  the  time." 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  couldn't  live  on  the 


46 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


planet  Saturn.  Then  you  would  have 
moons  enough." 

"  I  shouldn't  care  for  more  than  one 
at  a  time,"  said  Amy;  but  fearing  that 
the  extreme  haziness  of  her  ideas  with 
regard  to  the  moons  of  the  planet  Saturn 
might  be  exposed,  she  turned  the  conver- 
sation. "  You  promised  to  tell  me  your 
experience  about  worthless  prizes,"  she 
said,  glancing  up  at  her  companion. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  a  little  absently. 
They  were  walking  slowly  along  the 
moonlit  street,  and  he  gazed  ahead  with- 
out speaking  for  a  minute  or  two. 

Then  he  smiled.  "  I  haven't  thought 
about  it  for  years  before,"  he  said.  "  How 
old  are  you,  my  dear?  Sixteen?  Well, 
double  your  age — which,  I  suppose,  you 
don't  consider  a  pleasant  thing  to  do,  even 
in  imagination — and  you'll  have  the  num- 
ber of  years  which  have  elapsed  since  I 
was  a  young  man,  in  love  with  a  girl  only 
a  little  older  than  yourself.  It  seems  odd, 
doesn't  it  ?  " — rolling  out  a  cloud  of  smoke 
as  he  met  Amy's  eyes,  full  of  curiosity — 
"  but  it  is  true,  and  I  can't  flatter  myself 
that  I  was  any  less  a  fool  than  young 
men  are  nowadays.  I  was  desperately  in 
love,  and  desperately  poor.  Having  re- 
ceived an  assurance  of  affection  and  con- 
stancy from  the  object  of  my  passion, 
however,  the  labor  of  making  a  fortune 
seemed  a  trifle  hardly  worth  considering. 
"When  I  set  to  work  I  naturally  discovered 
my  mistake ;  but  I  struggled  on,  and  by 
the  time  I  was  half-way  up  the  hill  which 
I  proposed  to  climb,  the  girl  to  whom  I 
was  engaged  grew  tired  of  waiting,  and 
married  another  man." 

"She  jilted  you!  Oh,  how  shame- 
ful ! "  cried  Amy. 

Mr.  Trafford  removed  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth  to  laugh.  "  I  mustn't  obtain 
your  sympathy  under  false  pretenses,"  he 
said.  "  She  dissolved  the  engagement  in 
the  most  reasonable  manner,  and  married 
a  man  who  had  a  fortune  in  hand  without 
the  trouble  of  making  it.  I  don't  remem- 
ber that  I  suffered  from  the  disease  known 
as  heart-break  in  any  excessive  degree; 


but  I  do  remember  that,  by  the  time  I 
reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  I  was  heartily 
obliged  to  her  for  having  bestowed  her- 
self upon  somebody  else,  since  life — which 
is  like  a  crucible,  to  show  what  is  base 
metal  and  what  gold — had  proved  that 
she  was  a  weak,  extravagant  woman,  of 
bad  temper  and  lax  principles.  Now, 
you  see,  if  J  had  possessed  my  fortune  at 
the  start,  I  should  have  been  burdened 
with  that  woman  even  to  the  present  day, 
for  she  is  not  dead  yet." 

"  I  see,"  said  Amy.  "  How  glad  you 
must  be  to  have  missed  her !  But,  as  far 
as  my  wish  is  concerned,"  she  added,  re- 
alizing that  the  moral  of  the  story  was 
intended  for  her  benefit,  "  there  would 
be  nothing  of  that  kind  to  fear.  If  I 
were  rich,  I  should  be  able  to  help  other 
people — to  send  Felix  to  Germany,  to  let 
papa  rest,  to  give  TiTariette  and  the  boys 
every  advantage." 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Trafford.  "I  sup- 
pose you  were  thinking  of  these  things 
when  I  overheard  that  wish  you  uttered 
so  fervently  a  little  while  ago  ? " 

Even  in  the  moonlight  Amy's  deep 
blush  was  manifest.  "  No,"  she  said,  af- 
ter a  moment's  hesitation,  "I  was  not 
thinking  of  them.  A — something  made 
me  think  of  Miss  Waldron,  and  I  wished 
I  had  money  to  go  everywhere,  and  be- 
come accomplished  and  graceful,  and  be 
admired  as  she  is." 

"And  fall  a  prey  to  some  fortune- 
hunter,  as  she  will  probably  do.  How- 
would  you  like  that? " 

"  Why  should  you  think  she  will  prob- 
ably do  it?  "  said  Amy,  ignoring  the  ques- 
tion addressed  to  herself. 

"Why  should  I  think  so?  That  is 
easily  answered : 

'  Alas !  alas  !  for  the  woman's  fate 
Who  has  from  a  mob  to  choose  a  mate ! 

'Tis  a  strange  and  painful  mystery ! 
But  the  more  the  eggs,  the  worse  the  hatch  ; 
The  more  the  fish,  the  worse  the  catch; 
The  more  the  sparks,  the  worse  the  match — 

Is  a  fact  in  woman's  history  ! '  " 

Amy  was  quite  astonished  at  this  sud- 


MR.   TRAFFORD   OFFERS  ADVICE. 


den  "dropping  into  poetry"  on  the  part 
of  her  elderly  friend,  and,  having  never 
read  "  Miss  Killmansegg  and  her  Precious 
Leg,"  the  verso  had  the  merit  of  novelty 
to  her. 

"  I  have  heard  the  proverb  about  tak- 
ing a  crooked  stick  at  last,"  she  said.  "  I 
suppose  it  amounts  to  the  same  thing. 
But  do  you  know  of  anybody  Miss  Wal- 
dron  is  likely  to  marry  just  —  just 
now?" 

"  I  have  not  the  least  knowledge  of 
Miss  "Waldron's  affairs,  matrimonial  or 
otherwise,"  replied  Mr.  Trafford.  "  I  have 
heard  some  gossip  about  a  young  man 
named  Marchmont.  By-the-by,  haven't 
you  a  slight  acquaintance  with  him  ?  On 
the  whole,  my  dear — if  you  will  excuse  a 
bit  of  advice — I  think  you  would  do  well 
to  keep  it  a  slight." 

"Do  —  do  you  know  any  harm  of 
him? "  asked  Amy. 

Her  voice  quivered,  but  there  was 
none  of  the  defiance  in  it  which  had 
breathed  for  Hugh. 

"I  know  no  harm  of  him,"  answered 
Mr.  Trafford;  "but  I  suppose  you  have 
heard  of  the  spider  and  the  fly.  No  doubt 
the  spider  was  very  good-looking,  and 
pleasant,  but  the  fly  was  very  silly,  for 
all  that.  I  should  not  like  you  to  be  such 
a  fly." 

"  There  isn't  any  danger  of  it,"  said 
Amy,  and  a  chord  of  indignation  thrilled 
in  her  tone. 

"I  hope  not,"  said  her  companion. 
"Now  tell  me  about  this  plan  of  your 
father's  for  sending  your  brother  to  Ger- 
many. Why  does  he  not  do  it  ?  The  boy's 
talent  ought  to  be  cultivated." 

"  I  should  think  you  might  know  why 
he  doesn't  do  it,"  answered  Amy.  "  He 
has  not  the  money." 

"  It  would  not  take  much,"  said  Mr. 
Trafford. 

"  That  depends  on  how  you  look  at 
it,"  said  Amy.  "  It  might  not  seem  much 
to  you,  but  to  papa  it  seems  a  great  deal. 
You  see  " — a  sigh — "  it  is  awfully  expen- 
sive to  have  a  family !  " 


"I  suppose  so,"  said  Mr.  Trafford, 
with  a  laugh  that  made  some  loiterers  on 
the  other  side  of  the  street  turn  their 
heads.  "When  a  man  has  none,  how- 
ever, it  is  only  fair  that  he  should  help 
the  over-burdened  people  who  have.  Do 
you  think  your  father  would  be  offended 
if  I  offered  to  send  your  brother  abroad  ? " 

"  Offended !  "  Amy  stopped  short  and 
clasped  her  hands.  "  O  Mr.  Trafford ! 
are  you  in  earnest?  Would  you  really 
do  it?  I  think  papa  would  accept  such 
an  offer  gratefully,  because,  you  see,  it  is 
Felix  you  would  benefit,  not  him — and  I 
should  worship  you !  " 

"Would  you?  Well,  then,  it  is  a 
bargain.  Here  we  are  at  the  house. 
Kun  in  and  see  if  that  German  has  gone. 
If  he  has,  I'll  speak  to  your  father  at 
once." 

Luckily,  "  that  German  "  was  gone — 
if  he  had  still  been  in  the  house,  Amy 
would  have  been  tempted  to  take  him  by 
the  shoulders  and  put  him  "out — and,  more 
luckily  still,  Felix  had  accompanied  him, 
while  Mr.  Keynolds  remained  at  home. 
It  was  the  hand  of  the  older  musician 
which  was  lingering  over  the  keys  in  the 
dimly-lighted  parlor  when  Amy  entered, 
in  a  fever  of  excitement. 

"O  papa!  "  she  cried,  "Mr.  Trafford 
is  here,  and  he  wants  to  speak  to  you  on 
very  particular  business." 

"Ask  him  to  come  in,"  said  Mr.  Rey- 
nolds, rising  from  the  piano  and  fortify- 
ing himself  by  the  thought  that  he  did  not 
owe  Mr.  Trafford  any  money,  so  "  very 
particular  business  "  could  not  have  that 
significance. 

Mr.  Trafford  came  in,  and,  like  a  man 
of  business,  went  directly  to  his  point; 
yet  there  was  a  delicacy  in  his  mode  of 
doing  this,  which  proved  that  his  nature 
was  not  without  a  certain  fineness  which 
many  estimable  natures  lack. 

"  He  had  a  large  income,"  he  said, 
"no  near  relations,  and  very  few  person- 
al wants,  so  that  Mr.  Eeynolds  would 
confer  a  favor  if  he  would  allow  him  to 
bear  the  expense  of  sending  Felix  to  Ger- 


48 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


many,  and  providing  for  his  musical  edu- 
cation after  he  reached  there." 

Mr.  Eeynolds,  who  had  been  talking 
over  the  question  of  expenses  with  Herr 
Meerbach,  and  had  realized  with  a  sense 
of  despair  that  his  narrow  means  could 
not  possibly  be  stretched  to  cover  them, 
felt  as  if  the  heavens  opened  and  an  angel 
suddenly  spoke  to  him.  For  a  minute  he 
could  not  answer ;  but,  though  usually 
one  of  the  most  undemonstrative  of 
men,  he  seized  Mr.  Trafford's  hand  and 
wrung  it  until  that  gentleman  very  nearly 
groaned  aloud. 

By  the  time  Felix  returned,  the  matter 
had  been  settled,  and  there  were  tears  on 
his  father's  lashes  when  he  put  his  arm 
round  the  boy's  neck  and  told  him  the 
wonderful  news. 

It  was  still  wonderful  news — news 
that  seemed  almost  too  good  to  be  true — 
when  Amy  sat  on  the  back  piazza  the 
next  morning,  and,  while  the  sunbeams 
played  in  and  out  among  the  meshes  of 
her  curly  hair,  virtuously  proceeded  to 
darn  Felix's  socks.  "If  he  is  going 
away  so  soon,  I  must  put  his  clothes  in 
order,"  she  had  said  to  herself  on  waking, 
and  it  was  in  this  manner  .she  se*  about 
that  arduous  task.  Amy's  darning  was 
very  far  from  the  perfection  of  art,  but 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  good  intention 
in  the  bungling  stitches ;  and  as  her  needle 
traveled  back  and  forth,  she  was  saying 
to  herself,  like  a  charm  to  keep  weariness 
at  bay,  "  Felix  is  going  to  Germany  !  " 

On  this  refrain  the  sudden  jingle  of 
the  door-bell  broke  sharply. 

Down  went  needle  and  thread  and 
sock ;  up  sprang  Amy,  color  flashing  into 
her  face,  light  into  her  eyes.  "  Callers  " 
were  unknown  at  the  Reynolds  house, 
therefore  the  person  who  rang  in  that 
imperative  fashion  could  only  be  some 
one  on  business — as,  for  instance,  the  gro- 
cer's boy  with  the  grocer's  small  account — 
or  Marchmont. 

Hope  whispered  strongly  that  it  might 
be  the  latter ;  so  Amy  sped  to  the  door 


and  opened  it,  as  once  before,  with  trem- 
bling fingers. 

As  once  before,  she  encountered  dis- 
appointment. Instead  of  Marchmont's 
handsome  face  appeared  the  black  coun- 
tenance of  a  well-dressed  servant,  who, 
almost  without  glancing  at  her,  asked, 
rapidly : 

"  Is  Miss  Eeynolds  at  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  Miss  Eeynolds,"  answered 
Amy.  "  What  do  you — " 

She  stopped  in  her  question,  for,  as 
she  turned,  she  saw  that  a  carriage  was 
standing  before  the  door — a  carriage  from 
which  a  lady  bowed,  and  then,  as  the 
servant  approached,  descended. 

"It  is  Miss  Waldron,"  said  Amy  to 
herself.  "  What  on  earth  can  she  want  ?  " 

Miss  Waldron,  when  they  met,  shook 
hands  and  uttered  her  greetings  in  her 
usual  pleasant,  kindly  fashion,  but  she 
was  struck  the  while  by  the  transfor- 
mation in  Amy's  appearance  since  she 
had  last  seen  her  at  anything  like  close 
quarters.  In  fact,  Amy  was  at  the  age 
when  a  girl  often  astonishes  even  the 
members  of  her  family  by  shooting,  in  a 
day,  from  childhood  to  womanhood.  The 
pliant,  rounded  figure  had  gained  slender- 
ness  and  grace ;  the  piquant  face,  woman- 
ly expression.  Miss  Waldron  was  so 
much  struck,  that  she  was  almost  guilty 
of  staring  after  they  entered  the  dingy 
parlor,  and  she  was  enthroned  on  the 
dingy  horse-hair  sofa. 

"What  a  Hebe!"  she  was  thinking, 
while  she  made  a  few  commonplace  in- 
quiries and  remarks. 

These  over,  she  said,  frankly :  "  My 
dear,  I  am  told  that  you  have  a  beautiful 
voice,  and  I  have  come  to  ask  if  you  will 
sing  for  me  ?  " 

Amy  blushed  vividly,  not  so  much 
from  the  compliment  as  because  the 
thought  instantly  occurred  to  her  that 
only  one  person  could  have  told  Miss 
Waldron  about  her  voice.  "  I  am  very 
willing  to  sing  for  you,"  she  answered; 
and,  rising,  she  turned  to  the  music-stand, 
glad  of  an  excuse  to  escape  from  the 


MR.  TRAFFORD  OFFERS  ADVICE. 


49 


glance  of  the  kind  but  keen  dark  eyes. 
"  Would  you  like  any  particular  song? " 
she  asked,  after  a  minute  Lad  elapsed, 
broken  only  by  the  nutter  of  the  sheet- 
music. 

"  Not  any,"  Miss  Waldron  answered. 
"  Choose  what  you  like  best  and  can  sing 
best." 

So  Amy  chose  the  song  she  had  learned 
last,  and  with  her  rendering  of  which  both 
her  father  and  Marchrnont  had  professed 
themselves  entirely  satisfied.  It  was  the 
beautiful  music  which  Kubinstein  has 
set  to  those  exquisite  words  of  Heine's, 
"Thou'rt  like  unto  a  flower." 

At  the  first  clear  note  Miss  "Waldron 
lifted  her  eyebrows,  and  as  the  full  com- 
pass and  exquisite  quality  of  the  voice 
displayed  itself,  she  rose  in  uncontrollable 
amazement  and  walked  to  the  piano. 

"  Beautiful !  "  she  cried,  when  the  song 
ended — "  that  is  no  term  at  all  for  your 
voice !  It  is  marvelous !  I  had  no  idea 
of  anything  like  it,  though  Mr.  March- 
mont  did  say  that  you  were  a  future  suc- 
cessor of  Nilsson  and  Patti." 

"Did  he  say  that  to  youf"  asked 
Amy,  quickly.  Then  she  blushed  again; 
but,  with  a  self-possession  that  did  her 
credit,  considering  her  sixteen  years  and 
limited  opportunities,  she  added,  "  Mr. 
Marchmont  has  said  some  very  kind  things 
to  me  ;  but  people  often  say  such  things 
just  to  be  pleasant,  without  exactly  mean- 
ing them." 

"I  think  he  meant  them  all,"  said 
Miss  "Waldron,  looking  at  her ;  and,  as  she 
looked,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  the  young 
lady  to  wonder  what  that  "  all "  included. 
Could  any  son  of  Adam  gaze  into  that 
face  without  admiring  its  fairness? — and 
would  not  most  sons  of  Adam  utter  this 
admiration  freely  to  a  girl  so  young  and 
so  unprotected  ? 

Miss  Waldron  was  a  woman  of  the 
world,  and  she  knew  that  it  was  hardly 
likely  Marchmont  had  limited  his  appre- 
ciation to  the  voice  of  the  future  successor 
of  Nilsson  and  Patti. 

This    thought    flashed    through    her 


mind  while  she  was  uttering  a  few  more 
words  of  sincere  praise,  after  which  she 
added : 

"  I  am  sorry  I  have  not  time  to  ask 
you  to  sing  another  song  for  me  this 
morning,  but  I  shall  not  be  satisfied  until 
I  hear  you  again.  My  object  in  coming 
was  to  ask  a  favor  of  you — a  favor  which 
I  am  more  anxious  for  you  to  grant  since 
I  have  heard  your  voice.  I  am  to  give  a 
kind  of  fete — half  ball,  half  concert — on 
the  tenth  of  May,  and  I  shall  be  obliged  if 
you  will  promise  to  sing  on  that  occasion." 

So  gracious  was  the  tone  of  this  re- 
quest, so  entirely  free  from  any  suspicion 
of  patronage,  that  Amy's  first  sensation 
was  one  of  rapture. 

The  prospect  of  going  to  the  Cedar- 
wood  fete  was  in  itself  ecstatic  enough, 
but  the  thought  of  singing  in  public 
thrilled  her  heart  to  the  core.  Her  eyes 
expanded,  her  lips  sprang  apart: 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  "I  shall  be  very, 
very  glad  to  do  so' — if  papa  will  let  me." 

There  was  a  great  change  of  tone  and 
expression  ia  the  last  words — a  change 
which  made  Miss  Waldron  smile. 

"Do  you  think  Mr.  Reynolds  will 
object  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  am  afraid  he  will,"  answered  Amy. 

"  Then  I  must  try  my  powers  of  per- 
suasion upon  him,  and  I  think  I  shall  suc- 
ceed in  making  him  consent.  It  will  be 
an  excellent  opportunity  for  your  debut, 
and  so  I  shall  tell  him." 

"My  debut!  How  delightful  that 
sounds ! "  cried  the  girl,  with  sparkling 
eyes. 

"Eather  a  tame  debut  compared  to 
what  you  will  have  some  day,"  answered 
Miss  Waldron.  "  But  no  doubt  you  will 
enjoy  it;  there  is  delight  in  the  mere 
exercise  of  such  a  power  as  yours,  I  should 
think.  Now  I  must  say  good-morning. 
I  am  very  glad  I  came." 

Glad  she  came !  What  was  her  glad- 
ness compared  to  that  of  Amy,  who,  after 
the  carriage  had  rolled  away,  clapped  her 
hands  over  her  head,  and  cried : 

" Life  has  begun !  I  knew  it  would!  " 


50 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"l   WANDERED  BY   THE   BROOKSIDE." 

LIFE  began  in  such  earnest  for  Amy, 
that  the  next  few  days  went  by  like  a 
dream.  Mr.  Reynolds,  moved  to  unwont- 
ed amiability  by  the  fact  that  Felix  was 
going  to  Germany,  consented  for  her  to 
sing  at  Miss  Waldron's./2fe;  but  over  and 
above  the  pleasure  of  practising  for  this, 
and  the  arrangement  of  a  toilet  for  the 
occasion,  was  the  strange,  new  delight 
which  had  come  into  her  existence  with 
Brian  Marchmont.  The  girl  was  so 
young  and  inexperienced,  that  not  all 
her  native  shrewdness  availed  to  save 
her  from  the  fate  of  those  who  love  not 
wisely  but  too  well. 

It  may  be  said,  in  palliation  of  her 
folly,  that  Marchmont  was  one  of  the 
men  whom  Nature  gifts  with  exceptional 
powers  of  fascination,  and  that  his  suc- 
cess with  women  was  proverbial  among 
all  who  knew  him. 

"  He  has  a  knack  of  making  them  fall 
in  love  with  him ! "  his  friends  would 
remark  to  one  another ;  and  Marchmont 
himself  certainly  was  not  ignorant  of  his 
attractive  qualities. 

There  is  no  denying  that,  after  his  un- 
fortunate encounter  with  Hugh  Dins- 
more,  he  exerted  these  qualities  to  the 
utmost  with  Amy,  resolutely  thrusting 
aside  any  suggestion  which  prudence  or 
conscience  made. 

The  last  was  too  well  trained  to  trouble 
him,  while  with  regard  to  the  first  he 
said,  with  an  impetuosity  which  was 
occasionally  one  of  his  characteristics, 
that  there  was  only  spice  enough  of  risk 
to  give  zest  to  the  affair,  and  that  it  was 
a  risk  well  worth  running,  since  he  had 
not  been  so  interested  before  for  years. 

"  By  heaven !  that  little  witch  is  ten 
times  more  piquant  and  charming  than 
any  or  all  of  .the  society-bred  women 
with  whom  I  am  acquainted,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  If  she  were  in  the  remotest 


degree  eligible,  I  might  be  tempted  to 
think  that  I  had  found  my  fate  at  last." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Amy  was  led 
— she  did  not  pause  to  consider  where. 
Those  hours  "in  the  dingy  parlor  when 
she  sang  for  Marchmont,  those  hours  in 
the  neglected  garden  when  they  sat  under 
the  trees  where  white  blossoms  had  given 
place  to  green  leaves,  and  those  golden 
hours  when  they  wandered  through  the 
lovely  spring  woods,  all  did  their  work 
thoroughly.  If  any  thought  of  warning 
ever  came  to  her,  she  put  it  away.  The 
cup  of  nectar  which  was  held  to  her  lips 
she  drank  eagerly,  without  pausing  to  con- 
sider the  consequences.  Like  a  flower 
exposed  to  a  tropical  sun,  she  seemed  to 
grow  lovelier  and  more  mature  every  hour ; 
but  there  was  no  mother's  eye  to  note  the 
change  and  read  its  meaning. 

Her  father  was  absent  during  the 
greater  part  of  every  day,  and,  though  he 
knew  Marchmont  as  a  stranger  who  had 
been  much  struck  with  Amy's  voice  and 
came  occasionally  to  hear  her  sing,  his 
daughter  was  still  in  his  eyes  so  entirely 
a  child,  that  he  never  thought  of  the  re- 
sult which  a  woman  would  have  been 
quick  to  foresee. 

One  thing  which  conduced  to  this 
state  of  security  was  the  caution  which 
Marchmont  had  of  late  displayed  in  the 
matter  of  his  visits.  He  seldom  came 
to  the  house,  preferring  to  meet  Amy 
in  some  place — like  the  woodland  glen 
where  he  first  saw  her — remote  from  the 
eyes  of  gossips.  It  was  not  so  much 
Hugh's  expostulation  which  led  to  this, 
as  a  few  words  which  Miss  Waldron  ut- 
tered. 

"  I  went,  this  morning,  to  hear  your 
soprano  sing,"  she  said  to  him,  on  the 
evening  of  the  day  when  she  paid  her 
visit  to  Amy ;  "  and  you  are  right  about 
her  voice — it  is  wonderful !  But  you  did 
not  mention  that  her  face  is  nearly  as 
remarkable." 

To  this  Marchmont,  whose  self-pos- 
session was  imperturbable,  replied :  "  Yes, 
she  is  very  pretty ;  but  I  did  not  mention 


I  WANDERED  BY   THE   BROOKSIDE." 


51 


her  face  because  I  thought  you  knew  all 
about  her." 

"I  know  all  about  her  in  a  certain 
way — that  is,  I  have  seen  her  running 
about  the  streets  ever  since  she  was  a  lit- 
tle thing ;  but  I  was  not  in  the  least  aware 
until  to-day  that  she  had  shot  into  a 
woman,  or  that  she  was  so  beautiful. 
Why,  she  fairly  dazzled  me  when  I  first 
saw  her  in  that  dark,  narrow  passage! 
Hebe  herself  never  had  more  delicious 
coloring;  and  I  hope  you  don't  mean  me 
to  believe  that  you  have  not  gone  there  as 
much  to  admire  that  bewitching  face  as 
to  hear  her  voice !  " 

There  was  no  jealousy  in  the  tone 
of  this  remark — only  a  certain  satirical 
amusement — and  it  was  accompanied 
by  a  smile  which,  defied  contradiction. 
Marchmont,  however,  was  not  foolish 
enough  to  think  of  denying  the  charge. 

"I  always  admire  beauty  wherever 
I  find  it,"  he  said,  calmly,  "  and  this  girl 
has  genuine  beauty.  But  there  are  plenty 
of  pretty  girls  in  the  world,  and  it  is  only 
her  voice  which  has  attracted  me,  and 
made  me  spend  some  idle  hours — for  I 
can't  possibly  bore  you  with  my  presence 
all  the  time,  and  Edgerton  is  a  desert  to 
me — in  her  father's  house." 

"  I  suppose  there  is  no  harm  in  hear- 
ing her  sing,"  said  Miss  Waldron,  "  but 
the  girl  is  so  singularly  pretty,  that  I  am 
afraid  you  may  be  tempted  to  amuse  these 
idle  hours  by  flirting  with  her.  Nay, 
don't  look  so  virtuous ;  I  know  the  world, 
and  I  know  the  habits  of  the  men  of  the 
world  like  you,  sir !  What  I  wish  to  re- 
quest is,  that  you  will  forego  this  amuse- 
ment— for  my  sake,  if  you  please.  I  do 
not  want  that  bright  face  shadowed  be- 
fore its  time.  Will  you  promise  to  let  her 
alone  J" 

"  I  will  promise  never  to  see  her  again, 
if  you  like,"  he  answered,  carelessly; 
"  but  I  think  you  overrate  my  power  of 
doing  mischief,  and  I  am  sure  yon  over- 
rate my  intentions.  Let  me  tell  you  that 
a  man  only  flirts  when  his  heart  is  empty 
— never  when  it  is  filled  by — " 


"Oh,  never  mind  about  that!"  she 
interrupted,  with  impatience.  "  1  am  not 
interested  in  your  heart,  but  in  your 
conduct;  and  I  desire  you  not  to  flirt 
with  this  child." 

"  And  I  answer  to  that,  as  to  any  other 
command  you  choose  to  lay  upon  me :  To 
hear  is  to  obey." 

"  I  hope  that  I  may  trust  you  to  obey," 
she  said,  looking  at  him  steadily  ;  and  he 
felt  a  conviction  that  he  must  be  careful, 
for  this  woman  was  no  fond  fool,  who 
could  be  hoodwinked  at  a  man's  pleasure. 

It  chanced  that  among  the  guests  din- 
ing at  Cedarwood  that  evening  was  Mr. 
Trafford,  and  at  this  point  he  crossed  the 
floor  and  installed  himself  in  a  large  chair 
by  the  side  of  his  young  hostess. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  aware  that  you 
have  made  one  person  very  happy  to- 
day, Miss  Waldron,"  he  said,  after  a  few 
preliminary  remarks ;  while  Marchmont 
mentally  confounded  his  impudence,  yet 
feared  to  go  away,  not  knowing  what 
report  might  be  made  behind  his  back ;  so 
he  sat  still,  stroking  his  mustache,  and 
looking  supercilious — a  look  entirely 
wasted  on  Mr.  Trafford. 

"  Have  I  ?  "  said  Beatrix.  "  I  am  glad 
to  hear  it;  but  I  do  not  know  to  whom 
you  allude." 

"  Are  you,  then,  in  the  habit  of  mak- 
ing people  happy?"  he  asked.  "If  so, 
you  are  a  very  wise  young  lady — and,  I 
may  add,  an  uncommon  one." 

"  I  should  like  to  feel  that  I  deserve 
such  commendation,"  she  answered,  "  but' 
I  really  do  not.     It  is  very  rarely  that  it 
is  in  my  power  to  make  any  one  happy, 
and  to-day — " 

"  To-day  you  have  invited  a  little  girl 
to  sing  for  you  who  will  probably,  before 
she  dies,  sing  for  royal  personages — and 
have  thereby  given  her  more  pleasure 
than  the  kings  and  queens  will  ever  be- 
stow." 

"  Do  you  mean  Amy  Reynolds  ?  Is 
it  possible  that  you  know  her  ?  "  said  Miss 
Waldron,  astonished,  and  beginning  to 
think  that  Amy  must  be  growing  famous, 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


since  this  orderly  man  of  business  was 
acquainted  with  her. 

He  smiled. 

"  1  board  at  Mrs.  Crenshaw's,"  he  said, 
"and  am,  therefore,  a  next-door  neighbor 
of  Mr.  Eejnolds.  The  gardens  of  the 
two  houses  adjoin,  and  occasionally  I  look 
over  the  wall — as  Mr.  Marchmont  is 
aware." 

Mr.  Marchmont  managed  to  appear 
more  indifferent  than  he  felt. 

"  I  remember  you  astonished  me  very 
much  by  looking  over  the  wall  one  after- 
noon," he  said. 

"  That  occasion  served  as  a  warning 
tome,"  responded  Mr.  Trafford.  "  Find- 
ing that  I  was  likely  to  disturb  interesting 
conversations,  I  have,  since  then,  refrained 
from  entering  an  appearance  unless  I  had 
good  reasons  for  believing  that  the  coast 
was  clear.  This  afternoon,  however,  I 
heard  such  a  tide  of  melody  rising  from  the 
garden,  that  I  felt  constrained  to  glance 
over  and  ask  what  had  inspired  the  song- 
stress. Then  I  was  told  the  story  of  your 
invitation,"  he  said,  looking  at  Miss  Wal- 
dron. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  have  made  the  child 
happy,"  she  said.  "I  heard  her  voice 
this  morning  for  the  first  time,  and  was 
amazed  by  it !  " 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  voice,"  said  Mr. 
Trafford.  "She  will  make  a  sensation 
when  she  appears  on  the  stage." 

"  I  wish  she  could  be  saved  from  that," 
said  Miss  Waldron.  "  She  is  so  young,  so 
pretty !  " 

"Saved  from  it!"  repeated  March- 
mont, with  a  laugh.  "  I  do  not  think  she 
would  be  obliged  to  any  one  who  saved 
her.  She  pants  for  the  triumph  and  ex- 
citement and  splendor  before  her." 

"Yes,  it  would  be  altogether  useless 
to  attempt  to  induce  her,  for  any  object 
whatever,  to  resign  the  career  she  has  de- 
termined upon,"  said  Mr.  Trafford,  with 
such  a  thorough  air  of  knowing  all  about 
the  matter  that  Miss  "Waldron  betrayed 
in  her  face  the  surprise  she  felt. 

At  this  moment  General  Waldron  came 


up  and  carried  the  elder  gentleman  off  to 
a  whist-table,  greatly  to  Marchmont's 
relief ;  but  the  evil  star  of  the  latter  was 
plainly  in  the  ascendant,  for  who  should 
advance  to  take  the  vacant  seat  but  Arch- 
er, whose  first  remark  was : 

"I  have  not  been  able  to  ask  before, 
Miss  "Waldron,  what  you  thought  of  the 
boy  whom  I  sent  here  by  your  request?  " 
"Have  I  not  yet  thanked  you  for  exe- 
cuting my  commission  so  well  ? "  she  re- 
plied, with  a  smile.  "I  was  exceedingly 
pleased  with  him.  He  is  talented  and 
modest  and  honest,  I  am  sure." 

"  He  certainly  bears  an  excellent  char- 
acter, so  far  as  I  can  learn,"  said  Archer, 
"  and,  as  I  told  you,  deserves  encourage- 
ment." 

"Then,"  said  Marchmont,  speaking 
on  an  impulse  of  irritation  which  he  could 
not  restrain,  "  you  will  have  the  satisfac- 
tion of  feeling  yourself  accountable  if 
your  protege  walks  away  with  a  valuable 
picture  which  Miss  "Waldron  has  intrusted 
to  him. 

"  The  miniature  of  my  great-great- 
grandmother,"  said  Beatrix,  as  Archer 
looked  at  her.  "  Mr.  Marchmont  thinks 
I  have  been  imprudent ;  but  it  was  impos- 
sible to  look  in  that  boy's  clear  eyes  with- 
out feeling  convinced  of  his  integrity." 

"  Clear  eyes  are  not  always  proofs  of 
integrity,"  said  Archer,  smiling.  "Per- 
haps Mr.  Marchmont  distrusts  the  boy  be- 
cause he  knows  something  of  him,"  he 
added,  glancing  at  Marchmont  with  a 
keenness  which  that  gentleman  felt  and 
resented. 

"  I  know  that  he  is  an  errand-boy,  or 
something  of  the  kind,  in  Mr.  Lathrop's 
business-house,"  he  answered,  somewhat 
haughtily.  "My  knowledge  of  him  be- 
gins and  ends  with  that  fact." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  know  more  of 
him,"  said  Miss  Waldron,  musingly.  "  I 
mean,  that  he  is  connected  with  some  one 
— ah,  I  have  it!  His  face  was  in  a  meas- 
ure familiar  to  me,  but  I  could  not  place 
it.  Now  I  remember  that  I  have  often 
seen  him  with  Amy  Reynolds.  I  wonder 


I   WANDERED   BY  THE  BROOKSIDE." 


53 


if  he  is  in  love  with  her !  What  a  charm- 
ing match  they  would  make !  " 

"  Who,  Beatrix  ?  "  asked  a  young  lady 
not  far  off,  attracted  by  the  animated 
tone  in  which  these  words  were  pro- 
nounced. 

"  No  one  in  whom  you  are  interested, 
my  dear,"  answered  Beatrix. — "Don't 
you  think  my  idea  is  a  good  one,  Mr. 
Marchmont  ?  Two  artistic  souls  who  be- 
gin in  Bohemia  and  end — where  shall  we 
say?" 

"  Where,  indeed  ?  "  said  Marchmont, 
who  could  not  repress  his  disgust.  "  The 
idea  is  sacrilege !  The  lout  is  no  doubt 
in  love  with  pretty  Amy,  but  she  is — " 

He  paused,  conscious  that  Archer  was 
regarding  him  with  a  rather  peculiar  gaze. 

"Does  she  not  like  him  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Waldron.  "What  a  pity! 

'  But  'tis  just  these  women's  way, 
All  the  same  this  wide  world  over ; 

Fooled  by  what's  most  worthless,  they 
Cheat  in  turn  the  honest  lover.'  " 

"  If  a  man  had  ventured  to  quote  those 
sentiments,  you  would  have  called  him  a 
slanderer,"  said  Archer. 

"  A  man  wrote  them,"  she  answered, 
"but  I  fear,  alas!  he  was  not  a  slander- 
er." 

When  Marchmont  went  away  from 
Cedarwood  that  night,  he  told  himself 
that  he  must  be  more  cautious  in  his  flir- 
tation with  the  unfledged  prima  donna. 
He  was  in  a  position  where  he  could  not 
afford  to  lose  the  substance  of  what  he 
most  desired  for  a  shadow,  however  sweet 
and  fair  that  shadow  might  be. 

Yet  several  reasons  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  obey  Miss  Waldron's  request 
and  let  Amy  alone.  For  one  thing,  Amy 
had  grown  necessary  to  his — amusement. 
He  was  oddly  conscious  of  being  restless 
and  ill  at  ease,  "like  a  boy  in  love,"  he 
thought  scornfully,  when  he  did  not  see 
her ;  and  he  was  far  too  much  of  an  epi- 
curean to  deny  himself  any  pleasure  with- 
in his  reach. 

Then,  Hugh's  presumption  was  to  be 


punished  in  the  way  Hugh  would  feel 
most,  and — well,  there  were  manifold 
reasons  why  matters  should  go  on  a  little 
longer  exactly  as  they  were. 

"  After  the  fete  I  will  make  Beatrix 
give  me  a  definite  answer,  and  then  I  wiJl 
go  away  for  a  while,"  he  thought.  "  That 
will  end  everything  best." 

It  was  an  eminently  masculine  deci- 
sion, and,  having  made  it,  Mr.  March- 
mont felt  relieved  in  mind.  So  the  idle 
days  went  on  in  their  accustomed  fashion. 
April  sun  and  rain  made  the  earth  more 
lovely  every  hour,  and  when  May  came, 
crowned  with  a  thousand  flowers,  Nature 
seemed  to  welcome  her  favorite  child 
with  an  ecstasy  of  rejoicing. 

Into  Amy's  small  chamber  the  sun- 
shine streamed  in  a  tide  of  golden  bright- 
ness one  afternoon,  and  found  her  stand- 
ing before  the  mirror,  trying  on  a  hat 
which  she  had  just  trimmed.  It  was  ex- 
quisitely fresh  and  pretty,  though  fash- 
ioned of  the  simplest  materials,  and  the 
face  beneath  it  was  lovely  as  any  blossom 
of  the  May — so  lovely,  that  it  smiled  with 
pleasure  at  its  own  reflection. 

"Are  you  going  to  walk,  Amy?"  in- 
quired a  small,  eager  voice  at  the  half- 
open  door.  " May  I  go  with  you? " 

"No,  Mariette,  you  may  not,"  an- 
swered Amy,  with  decision.  "I  am 
going  out — on  business.  You  must  stay 
at  home,  like  a  good  girl,  until  I  come 
back.  Oh,  for  pity's  sake,  don't  cry !  "  as 
Mariette's  face  puckered  up  ominously. 
"  You  may  have  anything  in  the  house  to 
play  with,  if  you'll  only  stay  and  keep 
quiet." 

"  I'd  rather  go !  "  said  Mariette,  not 
much  impressed  with  this  sweeping  offer. 

"  But  you  can't  go !  "  said  Amy.  Then, 
to  cut  the  discussion  short,  she  snatched 
her  parasol  and  ran  down-stairs. 

When  Mariette  heard  the  house-door 
close,  she  lifted  up  her  voice  in  bewail- 
ing ;  but  there  is  little  pleasure  in  crying 
unless  somebody  can  be  disturbed,  and  in 
the  present  instance  there  was  nobody  to 
be  disturbed,  for  Clara — the  only  person 


54 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


left  in  the  house — was  too  deaf  to  hear 
the  tearless  howls ;  consequently  they  soon 
ceased,  and  remembering  Amy's  permis- 
sion with  regard  to  having  anything  she 
liked  to  play  with,  Mariette  looked 'round 
to  see  what  she  would  choose.  It  did 
not  take  her  long  to  decide,  for  Amy's 
treasures  were  few — a  toilet-box,  an  al- 
bum, usually  kept  out  of  her  reach,  to- 
gether with  a  few  old-fashioned,  gor- 
geously bound  annuals  that  had  belonged 
to  Mrs.  Keynolds.  On  these  she  laid  her 
hands,  and,  having  piled  them  carefully  in 
her  apron  and  gathered  up  the  hem  to 
form  a  bag,  she  proceeded  down-stairs. 

It  chanced  that  Amy,  on  going  out, 
closed  the  house-door  so  carelessly  behind 
her,  that  it  had  swung  open  again ;  and 
when  Mariette  came  round  the  curve  of 
the  staircase,  she  was  surprised  to  see  a 
tall,  handsome  lady  in  glistening  silk 
standing  on  the  threshold.  Such  a  vis- 
itor was  so  unexpected  that  the  little 
maiden's  eyes  opened  wide,  and,  in  her 
haste  to  descend  more  rapidly,  the  arti- 
cles in  her  apron  slipped  out  of  the  cor- 
ner thereof  and  came  crashing  down- 
stairs before  her. 

"I  expected  that,"  said  the  lady, 
advancing.  Then,  with  ber  delicately 
gloved  hands,  she  picked  up  one  or  two 
of  the  books.  "You  should  not  try  to 
carry  so  many  things  at  once,"  she 
said.  "  "What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
these  ? " 

"  I  am  going  to  take  them  in  the  gar- 
den, and  play  keeping  store  with  Hetty 
Crenshaw,"  replied  Mariette,  looking  up 
with  great,  blue,  unabashed  eyes.  "Amy 
said  I  might  have  anything  I  liked  to  play 
with.  Do  you  want  to  see  Amy  ?  She's 
gone  out." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  said  Miss  "Wal- 
dron — f  or  it  was  she — smiling,  and  think- 
ing how  very  pretty  the  child  was.  Al- 
most unconsciously  &he  added,  "Where 
has  Amy  gone  ? ". 

Mariette  set  her  ringleted  head  on 
one  side  with  an  air  of  wisdom.  "I 
don't  know  exactly,"  she  answered. 


"Amy  said  she  was  going  out  on  busi- 
ness, but  I  expect  she  went  to  walk  with 
Mr.  Marchmont ;  she  almost  always 
does." 

This  was  information  Miss  "Waldron 
had  not  anticipated,  and  the  blood  rushed 
to  her  cheek  as  if  she  had  been  detected 
in  something  unworthy.  It  was  evident 
that  she  could  have  learned  anything  else 
that  Mariette  knew,  but,  instead  of  asking 
further  questions,  she  opened  her  card- 
case  and  drew  out  a  card.  "  Give  that 
to  your  sister,"  she  said,  "and  tell  her 
that  I  came  to  make  some  arrangements 
about  the  fete.  Good-by,  and  don't  try 
to  carry  so  many  books  again." 

She  was  passing  out,  when  Mariette 
espied  a  bit  of  pasteboard  lying  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase,  which  she  immedi- 
ately seized. 

"Did  you  drop  this?  "  she  asked,  run- 
ning after  Miss  "Waldron,  who  turned, 
glanced  at  the  card,  hesitated  an  instant, 
then  took  it. 

On  one  side  was  Brian  Marchmont's 
name ;  on  the  other  a  pressed  fern  was 
pinned,  and  written  underneath,  in  an  un- 
formed, girlish  hand,  were  a  date  and 
four  words :  "  The  beginning  of  life." 

Mariette  wondered  what  made  the  lady 
silent  for  a  minute — a  minute,  during 
which  she  gazed  at  this  which  had  oddly 
drifted  into  her  hands.  She  knew  at 
once  that  it  had  fallen  from  one  of  the 
books  Mariette  dropped,  but  she  also  knew 
that  in  a  certain  sense  it  was  hers,  since 
the  date  proved  that  this  was  the  fern  she 
had  given  Marchmont  on  the  day  when 
he  asked  her  to  be  his  wife. 

Her  resolution  was  quickly  taken. 
The  proud  lips  set  themselves  with  a  cer- 
tain defiant  firmness,  as  she  opened  her 
card-case  and  slipped  the  waif  of  senti- 
ment within. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  she  said,  and 
went  away. 

Amy,  meanwhile,  had  left  the  streets 
behind  and  walked  toward  the  woods, 
which  at  the  present  season  were  full  of 
the  freshest,  sweetest  beauty  of  spring. 


"I  WANDERED   BY   THE  BROOKSIDE.' 


55 


About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town  she  reached  a  creek, 
overhung  by  trees  and  draped  with  the 
vines  that  make  Southern  water-courses 
so  wonderfully  picturesque. 

Turning  from  the  road,  which  crossed 
a  bridge  here,  she  tripped  lightly  along 
the  bank  of  the  stream  for  some  distance, 
with  a  look  of  expectation  in  her  eyes — a 
look  which  suddenly  changed  to  delight 
as,  not  far  off,  she  saw  a  slender,  shapely, 
masculine  figure,  clad  in  cool  gray,  lying 
on  the  green  .bank  under  the  shade  of 
overhanging  boughs,  while  a  fishing-rod 
was  propped  against  a  tree  near  by,  and 
obligingly  leaned  forward  so  that  its  line 
touched  the  water. 

The  hat  of  the  gentleman  was  pulled 
over  his  eyes,  so  that  he  would  hardly 
have  been  the  wiser  for  a  dozen  bites ; 
but  he  heard  Amy's  step,  and,  springing 
up,  met  her  with  both  hands  outstretched 
in  eager  welcome — all  listlessness  gone 
out  of  his  handsome  face,  his  hat  pushed 
back,  showing  the  damp,  dark  curls  that 
clustered  round  his  forehead. 

" So  you  have  come  at  last!  "  he  said, 
smiling.  "  I  have  been  waiting  and  watch- 
ing for  an  hour  at  least." 

"You  may  have  been  waiting,"  said 
Amy,  saucily,  "but  you  certainly  were 
not  watching.  I  thought,  when  I  came 
in  sight,  that  you  were  asleep." 

"  I  think  I  was  asleep,  and  dreaming 
of  you.  But  your  step  would  wake  me 
out  of  the  deepest  sleep  that  humanity 
knows.  Don't  you  remember  what  the 
lover  says  in  '  Maud '  ? — 

'  She  is  coming,  my  own,  my  sweet  1 
Was  there  ever  so  airy  a  tread  ? 

My  heart  would  hear  it  and  beat, 
Were  it  earth  in  an  earthy  bed  ! '  " 

"How  much  of  that  must  I  believe ? " 
asked  Amy,  with  a  smile  brimful  of  co- 
quetry. "  I  don't  think  hearts  like  yours 
beat  much  when  they  are  out  of  an  earthy 
bed,  and  therefore  they  are  not  likely  to 
be  disturbed  when  in  it." 

He  laughed — more  gayly  than  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  laughing. 


"  Have  you  an  exhaustive  knowledge 
of  hearts  like  mine  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You 
talk  like  a  llasee  flirt  of  thirty,  and  the 
tone  is  very  piquant  on  such  childish 
lips." 

"  Childish !  "  repeated  Amy,  and  the 
lips  in  question  curled.  "If /am  child- 
ish, who  is  grown  ?  Children  don't  feel 
what  I  do,  or  desire  what  I  do,  or  hate 
what  I  do.  Childish  1  You  don't  know 
what  you  are  talking  about,  Mr.  March- 
mont." 

"Don't  I  ? "  said  Mr.  Marchmont,  with 
a  glitter  of  amusement  in  his  eyes.  "  So 
much  the  better!  If  I  am  ignorant,  I 
must  be  instructed.  Sit  down  here;  I 
arranged  the  seat  for  you.  By  Jove,  how 
delightful  this  is!  Hereafter  I  shall  go 
in  strongly  for  pastoral  pleasures.  Who 
would  exchange  such  a  place  as  this  for 
any  drawing-rooin  on  the  face  of  the 
earth?" 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  damp,"  suggested 
Amy,  "  and  a  little  snaky ;  but  we  don't 
mind  about  that." 

"Xot  at  all.  Your  friend,  Mr.  Tr af- 
ford, might  object  to  the  dampness,  but 
fortunately  he  is  not  here.  As  for  the 
snakes,  they  might  come  in  regiments,  and 
I  should  defy  them.  Ah !  " — a  genuine 
sigh — "if  life  were  always  like  this — 
made  up  of  blue  sky  and  golden  sunshine, 
and  flowers  and  rippling  water,  and 
crowned  with  the  oldest  and  sweetest 
thing  in  existence !  " 

"  What  is  that? "  asked  Amy,  a  little 
wonderingly. 

"It  is  love,  my  dear,"  he  answered — 
"love,  that  sooner  or  later  makes  fools  of 
us  all.  Just  now  I  am  perfectly  conscious 
of  my  folly  ;  but  I  would  not  exchange  it 
for  the  wisdom  of  sages." 

"If  you  consider  it  folly,  I  wonder 
you  indulge  it,"  said  Amy,  who  did  not 
think  this  very  complimentary. 

"  Do  you  wonder  ?  That  proves  you 
can't  see  yourself.  If  you  could — bah! 
what  is  the  good  of  talking?  Love  ex- 
ists because  it  exists  ;  we  know  no  more 
than  that.  Amy,  this  is  not  the  first  time 


56 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


by  many  that  I  have  told  you  I  love  you, 
but  you  have  never  yet  given  me  any  as- 
surance in  return.  I  have  not  asked  for 
it,  because  of  many  fetters  upon  my  life ; 
but  now  I  feel  that  I  must  have  it. 
We  are  young,  hope  is  strong,  the  future 
can  take  care  of  itself ;  let  us  make  the 
most  of  the  sunshine  Fate  has  given  us. 
Sweetheart" — he  drew  her  into  his  arms 
and  kissed  her  dewy  lips  passionately 
once,  twice,  thrice—"  tell  me  here,  now, 
that  you  love  me !  " 

She  looked  up,  with  her  eyes  shining, 
a  scarlet  fire  burning  on  her  cheek.  "Well 
as  he  knew  her  beauty,  at  this  moment  it 
almost  electrified  him. 

"  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart! "  she 
answered.  "  I  never  knew  what  love 
meant  before,  but  now  I  have — " 

She  stopped  as  if  she  had  been  shot, 
and  Marchmont  drew  her  quickly  back 
into  the  deeper  shade  behind  them.  There 
had  been  the  sound  of  a  crackling  twig 
crushed  by  a  hasty  foot  on  the  other  side 
of  the  creek,  and,  looking  across,  they 
saw  a  man's  figure  disappear  in  the  shim- 
mering obscurity  of  green-and-gold  among 
the  brown  tree-boles. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  WOULD  YOU  LIKE  TO  PAY  YOUE  DEBT  ?  " 

"  How  charmed  I  am  to  see  you,  Be- 
atrix !  "  said  Florence  Lathrop,  sweeping 
into  the  handsome  drawing-room  where 
Miss  Waldron  sat.  "  There  is  not  a  soul 
at  home  but  myself,  and  solitude  does  not 
agree  with  me.  Come  up  to  my  room, 
won't  you?  It  is  so  much  more  sociable. 
What  a  lovely  color  you  have!  I  sup- 
pose the  heat  has  given  it  to  you." 

"Exercise,  perhaps,"  answered  Bea- 
trix, as  they  left  the  drawing-room — 
which  certainly  had  an  oppressive  air  of 
state — crossed  the  hall,  and  ascended  the 
broad,  easy  staircase.  "  One  of  the 
horses  cast  a  shoe  as  we  entered  town  ;  so 


I  sent  the  carriage  to  the  blacksmith's, 
and  have  walked  from  R —  Street  here." 
"How  disagreeable!"  said  Florence, 
sympathizingly. 

They  entered  her  room  as  she  spoke 
— a  boudoir-like  nest  of  blue-and-white. 
with  a  pleasant  breeze  fluttering  through 
the  wide,  lace-draped  windows. 

"  Take  this  chair  and  rest — or  will  you 
try  the  couch  ?  " 

"  This  is  very  comfortable,  thank 
you,"  answered  Beatrix,  sinking  into  the 
depths  of  the  chair  and  unfurling  a 
fan.  "I  am  not  very  tired — only  warm. 
And  so  you  are  the  only  member  of  the 
household  at  home?  That  is  singular — 
isn't  it?" 

"It  may  be  singular  that  I  should  be 
at  home,  but  it  is  not  at  all  singular  that 
the  rest  ehould  be  out.  Mamma  and 
Anna  are  visiting,  as  usual ;  papa  and  Ed- 
ward are  never  at  home  this  time  of  day. 
Eunice  asked  for  the  pony-phaeton  to 
drive  one  of  her  friends,  and  Brian  has 
gone  fishing ;  so  here  I  am  all  alone,  and 
delighted  to  see  you !  " 

"Mr.  Marchmont  has  gone  fishing!" 
said  Beatrix,  as  carelessly  as  possible.  "  I 
should  not  have  imagined  that  he  liked 
such  amusements." 

"Nor  I,"  responded  her  companion; 
"  but  he  declares  that  he  is  very  fond  of 
it.  Edward  laughs  at  him,  however,  be- 
cause he  never  brings  back  any  fish." 

"And  how  does  he  account  for  that? 
I  have  observed  that  when  people  like  to 
do  a  thing,  they  always  do  it  well ;  and 
fishing,  I  am  sure,  is  no  exception  to  the 
rule." 

"  Brian  says  that  his  object  in  going 
fishing  is  not  so  much  to  catch  fish  as  to 
lie  on  a  bank  and  look  at  the  blue  sky  and 
the  green  trees  and  the  water,  and  enjoy 
a  kind  of  dolcefar  menU." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Miss  Waldron.  Her 
lip  curled  as  she  bent  forward  and  ar- 
ranged a  fold  of  her  dress.  "  I  should 
never  have  suspected  him  of  such  pastoral 
tastes." 
.  "  Probably  they  have  developed  be- 


"WOULD   YOU  LIKE   TO   PAY   YOUR  DEBT?" 


57 


cause  he  is  in  love.  I  don't  know  much 
about  the  tender  passion  myself,  but  I 
think  I  have  heard  that  people  grow  pas- 
toral when  they  are  in  love." 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  so,  too — espe- 
cially under  certain  circumstances,"  said 
Beatrix,  a  little  dryly.  "  We  need  not  dis- 
cuss Mr.  Marchmont's  tastes,  however. 
If  he  likes  fishing,  by  all  means  let  him 
fish ;  a  man  whose  profession  is  idleness 
must  do  something,  I  suppose." 

"Oh,  Beatrix!  that  is  really  too  se- 
vere, when  you  know  that  Brian's  abili- 
ties are  so  great  that  he  is  certain  to  be  a 
very  distinguished  man  one  of  these  days." 

Miss  Waldron  elevated  her  shapely 
shoulders  slightly,  but  very  significantly. 
Evidently  Mr.  Marchmont  was  not  in 
her  good  graces  at  the  present  time. 

"  I  am  afraid  somebody  has  been  try- 
ing to  prejudice  you  against  Brian,"  said 
Miss  Florence,  who,  being  proud  of  her 
cousin,  and  in  a  manner  attached  to  him, 
was  sincerely  anxious  that  he  should  win 
the  young  heiress.  "  Perhaps  it  was  that 
disagreeable  Mr.  Archer,  who  plainly 
wants  to  marry  you  himself." 

"Florence!"  said  Miss  Waldron, 
"  what  do  you  mean  by  such  an  absurd- 
ity?" 

"  I  mean  exactly  what  I  say,"  returned 
that  young  lady,  "  and  you  need  not  try 
to  awe  me  by  majestic  looks.  When 
Brian  first  suggested  the  idea  to  me,  I 
said  that,  'of  course,  you  knew  it — that 
women  always  know  such  things ;  and 
I'm  sure  that  is  true,  for  /can  tell  the 
minute  a  man  falls  in  love ;  but  when  I 
saw  you  with  Mr.  Archer  at  Cedarwood 
the  other  day,  I  began  to  think  you  didn't 
know,  and  I  felt  I  ought  to  give  you  a 
hint." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Beatrix, 
half  amused,  half  vexed  ;  "but  I  am  not 
quite  so  obtuse  as  you  imagine.  I,  too, 
can  tell  when  a  man  is  in  love,  and  I  am 
glad  to  be  able  to. assure  you  that  you  are 
altogether  mistaken  with  regard  to  Mr. 
Archer." 

"  You  are  altogether  mistaken,  but-  I 


am  not!  "  said  Miss  Florence,  energeti- 
cally. "  I  would  stake  anything  on  the 
fact  that  the  man  is  in  love  with 
you!" 

"  You  would  lose  whatever  you  staked, 
then,"  said  Beatrix,  her  vexation  getting 
the  better  of  amusement.  "  Let  us  change 
the  subject." 

The  subject  was  changed,  and  when 
Miss  Waldron's  carriage  was  presently 
announced,  she  took  her  departure,  hav- 
ing discovered  without  any  trouble  all 
that  she  wanted  to  know. 

"  So  Mr.  Marchmont  goes  fishing  at 
the  same  time  that  Amy  Reynolds  goes 
to  walk!"  she  said  to  herself.  "Not 
difficult  to  tell  what  that  means.  The 
question  is,  how  can  I  end  the  matter 
best  ? — or  is  it  worth  ending  at  all  ? "  . 

She  was  still  debating  this  question 
when  her  carriage  rolled  into  the  gates  of 
Cedarwood,  the  beautiful  grounds  stretch- 
ing away  on  each  side,  and  looking  doubly 
beautiful  in  the  golden  light  and  long 
shadows  of  the  westering  sun. 

As  the  carriage  drew  up  before  the 
hall-door  a  young  man  emerged  there- 
from. For  one  moment  her  heart  leaped, 
and  she  said  to  herself  that  she  had  done 
Marchmont  injustice,  since  he  was  here 
to  meet  her — when  she  saw  that,  instead 
of  Marchmont,  it  was  Archer ! 

She  was  too  thoroughly  trained  in  the 
ways  of  the  world  to  evince  any  sign  of 
the  recollection  of  Florence  Lathrop's 
words,  which  came  to  her  as  soon  as  she 
saw  his  dark,  quiet  face. 

She  merely  uttered  an  ordinary  greet- 
ing, and  gave  him  her  hand  as  he  assisted 
her  to  alight ;  then,  when  they  were 
standing  on  the  portico,  she  said,  care- 
lessly : 

"  I  suppose  you  have  been  with  papa, 
Mr.  Archer?" 

"No,"  Archer  answered,  "the  gen- 
eral is  not  at  home.  I  hope  you  will  ex- 
cuse my  dusky  appearance,"  he  added, 
with  a  slight  smile.  "I  have  been  five 
or  six  miles  in  the  country  to  see  a  dying 
client,  and,  since  the  day  was  so  fine,  I 


58 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


walked  to  his  house  and  back.  I  am  on 
my  way  into  Edgerton  now,  but  feeling  a 
little  tired,  I  took  the  liberty  of  making 
a  short  cut  through  your  grounds,  and  of 
resting  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  house." 

"  I  am  glad  you  thought  of  doing  so," 
said  Miss  "Waldron,  cordially.  "You 
must  come  in  and  take  some  refreshment 
— oh,  I  insist  upon  it !  You  need  not  be 
afraid  that  I  will  oifer  you  cake.  I  know 
masculine  tastes  better  than  that." 

"  I  am  afraid  of  nothing  but  kindness 
from  your  hands,"  he  answered,  with  an- 
other smile  ;  and  for  the  first  time  Bea- 
trix noticed  how  pleasantly  his  usually 
grave  face  lit  up  when  he  smiled ;  "  but 
I  will  not  trouble  you,  for  I  must  go  on 
to  Edgerton.  I  have  special  business 
Availing  for  me  there." 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  you  have 
forgotten  the  old  fable  about  the  strung 
bow,"  she  said.  "  According  to  the  ac- 
count you  give  of  yourself — and  that  every 
one  else  gives  of  you — you  have  always 
special  business  waiting  for  you.  "When 
a  plea  is  brought  forward  so  constantly, 
one  is  obliged  to  doubt  it  a  little  after  a 
while.  Now,  will  you  think  me  imperti- 
nent if  I  ask  what  is  your  business  this 
afternoon,  and  why  it  is  so  pressing  that 
you  cannot  stay  and  take  a  cup  of  tea 
with  me?  I  know  you  like  tea,  Mr. 
Archer." 

If  Beatrix  had  been  questioned,  she 
could  hardly  have  told  why  she  thus  urged 
her  point,  except  that  Archer  looked 
worn  and  tired — surest  appeal  to  a  wom- 
an's sympathy — and  that  she  resolutely 
determined  to  ignore  Miss  Lathrop's  sug- 
gestion, and  not  to  let  it  influence  her  con- 
duct in  the  least. 

Nevertheless  she  was  forced  'to  see 
that  something  in  her  last  speech  affected 
Archer  singularly ;  a  strange,  swift  ex- 
pression passed  over  his  face,  and  his  eyes 
suddenly  drooped,  as  if  unable  to  meet 
her  own.  He  hesitated  for  an  instant, 
then  said,  quietly : 

"  You  are  very  kind,  but  I  cannot  wait 
— not  even  for  the  pleasure  of  drinking 


a  cup  of  tea  with  you.  I  should  not  have 
stopped  merely  to  rest,  but  I  wanted  a 
minute  to  think,  and  I  went  into  your 
drawing-room  as  a  good  place  to  collect 
my  thoughts  and  focus  them  into  a  reso- 
lution." 

"That  sounds  mysterious,"  said  Miss 
Waldron,  surprised  and  a  little  curious; 
"  but  I  will  not  be  impertinent  enough  to 
ask  any  more  point-blank  questions." 

"  I  would  willingly  answer  your  ques- 
tion, if  I  could,"  said  Archer,  looking  at 
her  now — very  oddly  she  felt — "  but  it  is 
impossible.  I  wonder,"  he  said,  with  a 
change  of  subject  so  abrupt  that  it  fairly 
startled  her,  "  whether  women  ever  care  to 
know  anything  further  of  a  man  than  that 
he  is  handsome,  graceful,  and  well-versed 
in  drawing-room  accomplishments  ?  " 

"  "What  on  earth  has  come  over  him  ?  " 
thought  Beatrix.  Aloud,  she  said :  "  I 
don't  know  about  most  women,  but  I  can 
answer  decidedly  for  myself,  that  I  cer- 
tainly desire  to  know  something  more 
than  that.  I  would  trust  no  man  whose 
integrity  failed  to  bear  any  test  to  which 
it  could  be  subjected.  I  would  never  for- 
give " — and  her  eyes  flashed  with  a  quick 
remembrance  of  Marchmont — "  anything 
that  came  under  the  head  of  treachery  to 
myself  or  another  I  " 

"What  was  there  in  that   glance  of 
Archer's  which  made  her  feel  as  if  he. 
was  pitying  her  ?    He  only  said,  "  I  hope 
you  may  never  have  to  endure  it,"  bowed, 
and.  went  away. 

Beatrix  stood  still  and  watched  him 
as  he  walked  across  the  lawn  to  the  side- 
gate.  "  How  strange !  how  very  strange !  " 
she  said,  half  aloud.  "Surely  he  must 
know  something.  I  wish  I  had  asked  him 
plainly  what  it  was." 

Archer,  who  at  his  best  was  a  capi- 
tal pedestrian,  did  not  occupy  many  min- 
utes in  reaching  Edgerton.  Having  en- 
tered the  town,  he  went  straight  to  his 
office,  wrote  a  short  note,  inclosed  it  in 
an  envelope,  which  he  sealed  and  ad- 
dressed to  Hugh  Dinsmore,  and  sent  it  to 
the  boarding-house  of  the  latter,  with 


"WOULD   YOU   LIKE   TO   PAY  YOUR   DEBT?" 


59 


directions  that  it  be  left  for  him  if  he  was 
not  there. 

It  chanced  that  Hugh  was  there,  hav- 
ing just  come  from  Mr.  Lathrop's  count- 
ing-house, where  he  had  been  kept  unu- 
sually busy  all  day.  The  boy  felt  tired 
in  mind  and  body,  but  he  knew  where 
refreshment  awaited  him  ;  and,  having 
washed  his  hands  and  face  in  cool  fresh 
water,  he  opened  his  paint-box  and  car- 
ried the  miniature  on  which  he  was  en- 
gaged, and  the  one  he  was  copying,  to  the 
window,  where  the  last  sunset-light  fell 
over  them. 

While  he  was  intent  on  these — not 
painting,  but  merely  gazing,  for  he  knew 
the  supper-bell  would  ring  in  a  minute — 
a  small  person  came  tumbling  up-stairs, 
vociferating  "  Hugh !  Hugh !  "  at  the  top 
of  his  voice,  and  commenced  thundering 
with  two  fists  on  the  closed  door. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Bobby  ? "  said 
Hugh,  opening  it. 

Bobby — aged  five — replied  by  extend- 
ing a  note  which  bore  the  impress  of  sev- 
eral dirty  fingers.  Notes  were  of  unusual 
occurrence  with  Hugh,  since  he  had  no 
relations  and  few  friends  in  Edgerton  ;  so 
he  received  this  with  a  sense  of  wonder. 
Was  it  from  Amy  ?  No  ;  the  firm,  mas- 
culine hand  which  appeared  on  the  ad- 
dress answered  that  question  at  once. 
Opening  the  envelope,  he  found  within  a 
few  lines  from  Archer,  requesting  him  to 
call  at  that  gentleman's  office.  "  Come  at 
once,  if  possible,"  he  wrote;  "I  have  an 
engagement  for  the  evening,  and  cannot 
see  you  after  eight  o'clock." 

Hugh  was  all  afire  with  eagerness  as 
soon  as  he  read  these  words.  That  the 
matter  in  hand  was  another  commission, 
he  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt.  While 
he  glanced  over  the  note,  a  clock  down- 
stairs struck  seven,  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment a  bell  rang  loudly.  "  There's  sup- 
per !  "  cried  Bobby,  pitching  away. 

Though  Hugh  had  a  healthy  appetite, 
supper  was  at  the  present  moment  a  mat- 
ter of  no  importance  to  him.  Afraid  that 
he  should  not  find  Archer  if  he  delayed 


at  all,  he  seized  his  hat,  forgot  for  the 
first  time  to  lock  up  the  precious  Wal- 
dron  miniature,  closed  his  door,  and  ran 
down-stairs. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  entered  Archer's 
office,  and  found  the  latter  there. 

"You  are  very  prompt,  Dinsmore," 
he  said.  "I  did  not  expect  you  so 
soon." 

"I  started  the  minute  I  got  your 
note,"  said  Hugh,  a  little  breathless  from 
his  haste.  "  I  thought  the  matter  might 
be  important,  so  I  did  not  even  wait  for 
supper." 

"  You  must  take  supper  with  me, 
then,"  said  Archer,  smiling ;  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  express  such  great  urgency.  The 
matter  is  important,  but  not  of  immediate 
haste.  Sit  down." 

Hugh  sat  down,  and,  in  the  moment's 
silence  which  ensued,  began  to  suspect 
that  there  was  no  commission  in  the  case 
after  all. 

Archer  was  folding  up  some  papers 
with  which  he  had  been  occupied,  and 
he  put  them  away  before  he  turned,  and 
said: 

"  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  ask  a 
very  abrupt  and  very  personal  question : 
Do  you  remember  that  evening  I  found 
you  senseless  in  the  road  beyond  Edger- 
ton ?  " 

Hugh's  surprise  at  this  unexpected 
question  could  not  easily  be  expressed, 
and  was  strongly  dashed  with  other  feel- 
ings. For  an  instant  he  was  so  thorough- 
ly "  taken  aback "  that  he  could  not 
speak ;  but  when  he  answered,  there  was 
no  mistaking  the  vibration  of  indignant 
pride  in  his  voice,  though  the  gathering 
twilight  concealed  the  flush  that  burned 
on  his  face. 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it,"  he  said ; 
"  but  I  don't  know  any  reason  why  you 
should  remind  me  of  a  thing  that  concerns 
nobody  but  myself." 

"  Indirectly,  it  may  concern  others  be- 
sides yourself,"  said  Archer;  "and  it  is 
because  of  this  that  I  have  sent  for  you, 
in  order  to  request  you  to  be  frank  with 


60 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


me.  I  know  that  you  had  some  kind  of 
an  altercation  with  Marchmont,  and  that 
he  flung  you — heing  much  younger  and 
slighter  than  himself — where  I  found  you. 
I  know  this ;  what  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
is  the  subject  of  your  quarrel." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  ask  me  such  a 
question !  "  said  Hugh,  with  growing  in- 
dignation. "You  would  not  do  so  if  I 
were  a  man,  and  your  equal !  I  will  not 
tell  you  anything  about  it !  " 

"Then  I  must  tell  you"  said  Archer. 
"The  subject  of  your  dispute — or  what- 
ever name  you  choose  to  give  to  the  affair 
— was  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Beynolds,  the 
music-teacher." 

"How  did  you  know?  "  asked  Hugh. 
Then  he  caught  himself.  "  I  mean,  you 
do  not  know  anything  about  it,"  he  said ; 
"  and,  if  this  is  all  you  want  with  me,  I 
might  as  well  go." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke ;  but  Archer  rose 
also,  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  This  is  nonsense !  "  Archer  said. 
"  You  have  betrayed  yourself,  even  if  I 
had  not  known  exactly  how  the  matter 
stood  before.  No  doubt  you  are  in  love 
with  the  girl,  but  she  is  not  worth  shield- 
ing. I  saw  her  with  Marchmont  to-day." 

"  You  saw  her !  "  said  Hugh,  with  a 
gasp.  "  Where  ?  " 

"In  the  woods,"  the  young  lawyer 
answered.  "  Marchmont  and  herself 
were  there  together,  and,  when  I  came 
unexpectedly  upon  them,  she  was  in  his 
arms.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  my  poor  fel- 
low," as  Hugh  started  and  quivered  from 
head  to  foot ;  "  but  this  is  probably  only 
folly  on  her  part.  "What  it  is  on  his,  I 
won't  pretend  to  say;  but  one  thing  is 
certain :  if  you  want  to  end  it,  you  had 
better  be  frank  with  me." 

"  But  why  do  you  want  to  know  any- 
thing? How  does  it  concern  you?  "  said 
Hugh,  writhing  like  one  in  pain. 

"  I  want  to  know,"  said  Archer,  "  be- 
cause I  don't  choose  that  a  man  like  this 
shall  marry  such  a  woman  as  Miss  Wal- 
dron.  I  am  thinking  of  her.  Amy  Eey- 
nolds is  nothing  to  me.  You  owe  Miss 


"Waldron  something  for  her  kindness  to 
you  ;  you  owe  Marchmont  something  for 
the  manner  in  which  he  left  you  lying  on 
the  highway.  Would  you  not  like  to  pay 
both  these  debts?" 

Hugh  looked  up,  and,  even  in  the 
dusk,  Archer  was  struck  by  those  clear 
eyes  of  which  he  had  heard  Beatrix  speak. 

"I  would  like,"  he  said,  slowly,  "to 
save  Amy  from  suffering  and  from  slan- 
der ;  that  is  all." 

"  To  accomplish  that,"  said  Archer, 
"  you  must  send  Marchmont  from  Edger- 
ton.  As  far  as  I  know,  but  one  thing 
keeps  him  here — his  suit  with  Miss  Wal- 
dron ;  and  I  am  sure  that  when  she  is 
aware  that,  while  addressing  her,  he  has 
been  carrying  on  a  love-affair  with  a  girl 
whom  he  can  have  no  idea  of  marrying, 
she  will  dismiss  him  at  once." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  asked  Hugh, 
doubtfully.  "  I — of  course,  I  know  noth- 
ing about  such  things,  but  I  have  heard 
people  say  that  a  woman  hardly  ever  cares 
what  a  man  has  done  to  another  woman." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Archer,  "  of 
women  in  general,  but  I  know  it  is  not 
true  of  Miss  Waldron.  Such  treachery  as 
this  would  turn  her  to  steel,"  he  said, 
thinking  of  the  flash  he  had  seen  in  the 
dark  eyes  so  short  a  time  before.  "  But 
you  have  not  told  me  yet  when  this — 
flirtation,  shall  I  say? — began.  Let  me 
hear  all  about  it." 

Some  men  have  a  faculty  for  inspiring 
confidence,  and  Archer  was  one  of  these. 
Nobody  ever  felt  a  doubt  of  his  entire 
trustworthiness,  and  Hugh  found  it  al- 
most a  relief  to  tell  all  that  he  knew  of 
Marchmont's  acquaintance  with  Amy. 
Archer  grasped  the  story  without  diffi- 
culty. An  idle  man  of  the  world,  lover 
of  pleasure  and  admirer  of  beauty,  a  fool- 
ish, flattered  girl  hardly  emerged  from 
childhood — what  an  old  combination  was 
here !  Were  there  any  materials  to  work 
a  new  result  ?  he  wondered. 

"  Unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  that 
girl  is  not  a  mere  pretty  doll,"  he  thought, 
recalling  Amy's  face  as  he  had  seen  it 


"WOULD   YOU  LIKE   TO   PAY  YOUR  DEBT?" 


61 


once  or  twice.  "She  may  turn  amuse- 
ment into  something  else  before  the  mat- 
ter is  ended." 

This,  however,  was  the  merest  thought 
in  passing.  Amy  might  be  everything  to 
Hugh,  but  she  was  nothing  to  him.  The 
only  person  to  be  considered,  from  his 
point  of  view,  was  Beatrix  Waldron.  He 
had  not  the  faintest  hope  of  marrying  her 
himself — in  fact,  such  an  idea  did  not  en- 
ter his  mind  at  all — but  he  was  stern- 
ly determined  to  do  all  that  lay  in  his 
power  to  save  her  from  the  fate  of  mar- 
rying Brian  Marchmont. 

After  Hugh's  story  had  been  told,  he 
reflected  for  a  while,  then  said  that  he 
would  consider  how  the  substance  could 
best  be  given  to  Miss  Waldron.  For  ob- 
vious reasons  he  felt  that  it  would  be  im- 
possible for  him  to  tell  it. 

"If  all  other  expedients  fail,  do  you 
think  that  you  would  have  courage  to  go 
to  her,  Dinsmore  ?  "  he  asked. 

"I  think  I  could — for  Amy's  sake," 
answered  Hugh. 

Archer  shook  his  head. 

"  My  poor  fellow,"  he  said,  "  you 
think  entirely  too  much  of  Amy.  When 
a  man  regards  a  woman  in  that  way,  do 
you  know  how  she  treats  him  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  do,"  replied  Hugh,  rue- 
fully. 

"  Generally  speaking,  she  makes  a 
football  of  him,"  said  Archer.  "  But  it 
is  growing  late,  and  I  must  not  forget  that 
you  have  had  no  supper.  Come  and  take 
it  with  me  at  my  hotel." 

This  Hugh  declined  doing. 

"  I  can  get  something  from  Mrs.  Sar- 
gent," he  said;  "  she  is  very  kind.  lam 
much  obliged,  but  I  had  rather  not  trouble 
you,  Mr.  Archer." 

"  Trouble !  "  said  Archer.  "  I  am  not 
a  housekeeper." 

But  Hugh  still  declined  the  invitation, 
and  went  away  to  his  own  lodging-house. 
In  truth,  supper  was  a  matter  of  small 
consideration  to  him,  compared  to  the 
pleasure  of  returning  to  his  painting. 
Nevertheless,  he  was  not  sorry  to  find 


that  Mrs.  Sargent  had  put  aside  some 
bread  and  butter  and  coffee  for  him. 

"  What  possessed  you  to  run  away 
just  when  supper  was  ready?  "  she  said, 
while  he  sat  down  to  these.  "  Bobby  said 
you  got  a  note  ;  it  surely  must  have  been 
from  your  sweetheart." 

"  No,  it  wasn't,"  said  Hugh,  with  as 
much  of  a  sigh  as  was  compatible  with 
eating  bread  and  butter.  "  It  was  from 
a  gentleman — on  business." 

"'Well,"  said  the  friendly  woman,  "I 
hope  the  business  is  of  a  kind  to  bring 
some  money  in  your  pocket,  for  I  declare 
it  goes  to  my  heart  to  see  how  shabby 
your  clothes  are.  Mr.  Lathrop  might  pay 
you  better  for  slaving  day  after  day,  I 
think." 

"He  pays  me  well  enough,"  said 
Hugh;  "and  you  know  I  told  you,  Mrs. 
Sargent,  that  the  reason  I  dress  so  shab- 
bily is,  that  I  am  saving  fill  my  money 
to  go  away  some  day  and  learn  how  to 
paint." 

"  A  fine  sight  of  money  you  will  make 
at  that!"  said  Mrs.  Sargent,  scornfully. 
"  Why  can't  people  be  satisfied  when  they 
are  well  off,  I  say  ?  There's  Felix  Rey- 
nolds, who  I  hear  is  going  away  to  learn 
music — as  if  he  couldn't  see  from  his 
father's  example  what  is  to  be  made  at 
that !  If  Mr.  Eeynolds  would  put  the  boy 
to  some  trade,  he'd  be  doing  a  better  part 
by  him.  He  was  here  a  while  ago — Fe- 
lix, I  mean — and  said  he  was  sorry  not 
to  find  you." 

"Did  he  want  anything  in  particu- 
lar?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of.  I  heard  some- 
body go  up-stairs  to  your  room,  and  I 
thought  perhaps  it  was  you,  till  present- 
ly he  came  down  again  and  put  his  head 
in  the  door  to  ask  where  you  was.  He 
looked  white  and  excited-like.  Somehow 
I  don't  think  that  boy's  going  to  live 
long." 

"  Oh,  he  has  an  excitable  tempera- 
ment," said  Hugh.  "  That  don't  kill  peo- 
ple.— Well,  Mrs.  Sargent,  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  the  supper,  which  I 


AFTER  MANY  DATS. 


have  enjoyed  greatly,  and  now  I'll  go  up- 
stairs." 

"  And  sit  up  all  night  at  your  paint- 
ing," said  Mrs.  Sargent,  shaking  her  head 
in  warning  reproof. 

Hugh  smiled  and  went  away,  bound- 
ing up-stairs  three  steps  at  a  time.  He 
was  never  so  happy  as  when  his  colors 
were  before  him  and  his  brush  in  his 
hand.  His  facility  in  executing  the  com- 
mission which  Miss  "Waldron  had  given 
astonished  himself.  Inspiration  seemed 
to  come  to  his  aid  where  technical  knowl- 
edge was  lacking,  and,  although  he  had 
worked  under  every  possible  disadvan- 
tage, the  result  justified  his  most  sanguine 
belief  in  his  own  powers. 

When  he  reached  his  room  he  found 
the  door  slightly  ajar.  This  did  not  sur- 
prise him,  for  he  knew  that  he  had  not 
locked  it  on  going  out,  and  that  Felix  had 
been  to  the  room  since  then.  He  entered, 
struck  a  match,  and  lighted  the  argand- 
lamp,  which,  with  its  steady,  powerful 
burner,  he  had  found  absolutely  indis- 
pensable for  his  work,  and  which  was 
one  of  the  most  precious  and  expensive 
of  his  few  possessions.  Having  placed 
the  lamp  in  position  and  arranged  his 
things  ready  for  painting,  he  turned  to 
the  casket  of  the  miniature.  To  his  sur- 
prise, it  was  open  and  empty.  For  a 
second,  dismay  seemed  to  grasp  him  like 
the  hand  of  a  strong  man,  when  he  re- 
membered that  he  had  taken  the  picture 
out  just  before  Archer's  note  was  brought 
to  him.  With  an  ejaculation  on  his  care- 
lessness, he  turned  to  the  window  where 
he  had  been  standing.  There,  on  the 
ledge,  lay  the  fold  of  white  paper  which 
contained  his  half -finished  miniature,  but 
that  which  had  been  intrusted  to  him  was 
gone! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"AN  ABSOLUTE   STEOKK   OF  LUCK." 

HAVING  slowly  wandered  home  with 
Amy  through  the  exquisite  May  twilight 
— twilight  which  seemed  especially  made 
for  lovers  and  mocking-birds,  and  in 
which  other  classes  of  the  world's  popu- 
lation merely  existed  on  sufferance,  and 
were  wholly  out  of  place — Marchmont 
felt  averse  to  taking  leave  when  Mr.  Rey- 
nolds's  door  was  reached.  Amy  looked 
bewitchingly  pretty  in  the  soft  gloaming ; 
it  was  "  the  hour  when  lovers'  vows  sound 
sweet  in  every  whispered  word ; "  and, 
altogether,  he  was  strongly  inclined  to  de- 
fer his  return  from  Bohemianism  to  re- 
spectability. If  Amy  had  said  "  Come 
in  to  tea,"  he  would  have  gone  in ;  but 
Amy  had  no  mind  to  say  anything  of  the 
kind.  Mr.  Reynolds  would  not  only  have 
been  reasonably  astonished  at  such  a  step, 
and  would  certainly  have  demanded  an 
explanation;  but  Amy  shuddered  when 
she  thought  of  Marchmont  being  intro- 
duced to  the  family  dining-room,  where 
hideous  serviceable  delf  alone  crowned 
the  family  table.  There  are  some  rare 
people  whose  breeding  is  of  such  an  ex- 
quisite quality,  that  they  would  make  no 
sign  of  recognizing  the  difference  between 
the  table  of  a  laborer  and  that  of  a  mill- 
ionaire; but  she  felt  instinctively  that 
Marchmont  did  not  belong  to  this  class. 
Cut-glass  and  silver,  damask  and  Sevres, 
were  the  necessities  of  life  to  him ;  and 
nothing  revolted  his  fastidiousness  so 
thoroughly  as  coarseness  and  ugliness  in 
any  degree. 

Amy  knew  this  as  much  through  sym- 
pathy as  anything  else,  for  they  revolted 
her  to  the  centre  of  her  eoul,  and  had 
always  done  so.  Parting  was  very  un- 
pleasant, but  she  clearly  recognized  the 
necessity  for  it,  and  held  out  her  hand 
with  an  unmistakable  gesture  of  farewell 
when  they  paused  on  the  door-step. 

"And  must  I  go?"  said  Marchmont. 


"AN  ABSOLUTE   STROKE   OF   LUCK." 


63 


"That  is  very  hard.  I  don't  feel  like 
going  at  all.  I  prefer  sitting  down  here, 
nnd  defying  Mrs.  Grundy  to  say  and  do 
her  worst." 

"What  would  -Mrs.  Grundy's  worst 
be  to  you?"  demanded  Amy.  "Not 
that  I  should  care  for  anything  slie  could 
say  of  me,"  she  added,  with  a  slight,  de- 
fiant toss  of  her  head ;  "  but  there's  papa 
to  be  considered.  He  has  told  me  not 
to  stand  here  and  talk  to  gentlemen,  so 
I  must  go." 

"You  have  stood  and  talked  to  gen- 
tlemen before,  then?"  said  Marchmont, 
a  little  suspiciously.  It  is  in  the  nature 
of  man  to  be  jealous,  and  certainly  no 
more  winsome  face  than  Amy's  at  this 
moment  ever  served  as  an  excuse  for 
jealousy. 

She  caught  the  intonation,  and  laughed 
— a  peal  of  mirth  that  rang  out  sweetly 
on  the  soft  air.  "  Do  you  think  you  are 
the  only  gentleman  I  ever  talked  to  ? " 
she  asked,  saucily.  "  That's  not  likely — 
is  it?" 

"  I  think  you  have  about  as  much 
diablerie  in  you  as  any  of  your  sex  whom 
I  have  ever  known — and  that  is  saying  a 
great  deal,"  replied  Marchmont.  "But 
let  us  hear  the  names  of  the  gentlemen. 
Come!  confession  is  good  for  the  soul, 
you  know." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Amy,  delighted 
at  the  attraction  which  was  detaining 
him,  yet  anxious  for  him  to  go,  since  Mr. 
Reynolds,  or  Clara,  might  appear  at  any 
moment ;  "  I  think  it  is  very  foolish  of 
people  to  give  evidence  against  them- 
selves. But  I  have  nothing  to  confess," 
she  added,  with  a  sigh.  "No  doubt  I 
should  be  a  great  flirt,  if  I  had  a  chance  ; 
but  nobody  has  ever  given  me  a  chance." 

"I  will!"  said  Marchmont.  "You 
can  practise  on  me !  I  offer  myself  he- 
roically on  the  shrine  of  your  future 
greatness,  and  some  day,  when  you  are 
breaking  hearts  by  the  score  in  the  most 
scientific  manner,  you  will  give  me  a 
place  in  your  memory  as  the  first  trophy 
of  your  skill." 


The  words  of  laughing  jest  were  light 
enough,  but  the  dark,  daring  eyes — irre- 
sistible eyes,  a  hundred  young  ladies  had 
called  them — were  full  of  earnestness  as 
they  gazed  at  that  rose-bud  face.  Under 
that  gaze  Amy's  lashes  sank,  and  the  col- 
or wavered  in  her  fair  cheeks. 

A  place  in  her  memory !  There  could 
be  little  doubt  of  that.  Whether  for  good 
or  evil,  friend  or  foe,  Brian  Marchmont 
could  not  fail  to  command  recollection  at 
least. 

"I  wish — "  she  said,  suddenly,  and 
then  paused. 

"Well,"  said  her  companion,  after 
waiting  an  instant  and  finding  she  did 
not  go  on,  "what  do  you  wish?  That 
you  were  prima-donna  assoluta,  with  all 
Paris  at  your  feet?" 

"No;  I  was  not  thinking  of  that," 
she  answered,  glancing  at  him  with  some- 
thing of  a  child's  wistfulness ;  "I  was 
about  to  say  that  I  wish  I  knew  what 
you  and  I  will  be  to  each  other — in  life." 

"Oh!  "  said  Marchmont,  slightly  dis- 
comfited. He  lifted  his  hand  and  pulled 
the  end  of  his  silky  mustache  before 
answering.  Then  he  said,  carelessly : 
"Such  thoughts  are  unpleasant,  my  dear, 
and  not  worth  troubling  one's  head  over. 
We  know  nothing — absolutely  nothing — 
about  to-morrow  ;  but  we  have  to-day  in 
our  grasp,  and  we  are  fools  if  we  do  not 
take  all  that  it  offers  us  of  pleasure. 
There's  no  better  philosophy  in  life  than 
that  of  gathering  roses  while  we  may ;  and 
you  and  I  have  gathered  some  this  after- 
noon— have  we  not,  my  pretty  Amy  ? " 

The  tone  in  which  he  uttered  her 
name  was  equivalent  to  a  caress,  but  Amy 
did  not  answer.  Looking  up  at  that  mo- 
ment, she  saw  one  of  the  greatest  gossips 
in  the  neighborhood — a  stout  woman, 
with  the  waddling  gait  that  stout  women 
often  have — bearing  along  the  sidewalk 
toward  her. 

"Dear  me!"  she  said,  under  her 
breath,  "yonder  comes  Mrs.  Simpson, 
and  she  will  stop  and  talk,  and — and — 
oh,  I  must  go !  Good-by !  " 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


She  darted  into  the  house  so  rapidly 
that  Marchmont  had  not  time  for  a  word. 
In  fact,  he  was  so  completely  taken  hy 
surprise  that  he  could  only  gaze  blankly 
at  the  door  for  a  minute,  while  Mrs.  Simp- 
son— who  knew  perfectly  who  he  was — 
indulged  in  a  prolonged  stare  at  his  pro- 
file. Bousing  suddenly  to  a  consciousness 
of  this,  he  flung  one  haughty  glance  at 
her,  then  sprang  up  the  step  or  two  which 
intervened  between  himself  "and  the  door, 
and  vanished  in  turn. 

"If  I  ever  saw  the  like!"  said  Mrs. 
Simpson  to  herself,  as  she  waddled  along. 
"  He  seems  as  much  at  home  in  the  house 
as  if  he  lived  there.  If  that  girl  don't 
come  to  harm  yet,  Pm  mistaken !  " 

Careless  of  any  comments  to  which 
his  conduct  could  give  rise,  Marchmont 
paused  in  the  dusky  passage  and  looked 
round,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  Amy. 
Xo  doubt  she  had  ascended  the  staircase 
which  wound  upward  before  him.  He 
would  not  call,  for  fear  of  rousing  some 
one  else  to  respond;  so  he  entered  the 
parlor,  determined  to  wait  and  intercept 
her  when  she  descended. 

"I  only  want  to  say  one  word,"  he 
muttered  to  himself,  in  justification  of 
this  step.  "  I  must  tell  her  that  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  see  her  to-morrow." 

The  twilight,  which  by  this  time 
reigned  over  the  outer  world,  was,  of 
course,  much  deeper  within  a  room  which 
was  generally  in  shadow  at  noon-day. 

After  stumbling  against  two  or  three 
pieces  of  furniture,  Marchmont  found  a 
chair,  in  which  he  sat  down.  Just  behind 
him,  in  a  recess,  was  a  sofa,  but  he  was  not 
aware  of  its  proximity,  else  he  might  have 
essayed  to  make  himself  comfortable  on 
that. 

He  had  not  been  sitting  here  more 
than  two  minutes — though  they  seemed 
twenty — when  hasty  footsteps  entered 
the  house  from  the  street.  The  next  in- 
stant Oliver  rushed  into  the  dark  par- 
lor. 

"Amy!"  he  cried,  quickly — "Amy! 
are  you  here  ? " 


"  She  is  not  here,"  said  Marchmont, 
who  did  not  fancy  the  prospect  of  inter- 
ruption. "  Is  anybody  dead,  or  dying,  my 
good  fellow,  that  you  make  such  an  up- 
roar?" 

"No,  there's  nobody  dead,  or  dying," 
replied  Oliver,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 
"You  are  Mr.  Marchmont,  aren't  you?" 
he  added,  drawing  nearer.  "  Are  you 
here  all  by  yourself  ?  "Where's  Amy  ?" 

"I  can  give  no  information  on  that 
point.  She  disappeared  a  minute  ago, 
and  I  don't  know  where  she  has  gone." 

"  I've  got  something  to  tell  her,  and 
something  to  show  her !  "  said  Oliver,  in 
a  tone  of  triumphant  excitement.  "  It's 
the  best  joke  on  her,  and  on  Hugh  Dins- 
more,  that  ever  was!  You  know,"  he 
went  on,  "Hugh's  been  awful  spooney 
about  Amy  for  a  long  time,  and  Amy  don't 
believe  he  ever  thought  of  any  other  girl 
but  her.  Well,  some  of  us  boys  are  going 
to  have  theatricals  round  in  Tom  White's 
barn  to-night,  and  I  went  to  Hugh's  room 
a  little  while  ago  to  get  him  to  paint  me 
for  an  Indian,  but  he  wasn't  there.  Then 
I  thought  I  could  paint  myself,  if  I  had 
the  stuff,  so  I  commenced  rummaging 
among  his  things,  when  I  found  a  picture 
of  such  a  pretty  girl,  that  I  made  up  my 
mind  in  a  minute  I'd  bring  it  and  show  it 
to  Amy,  and  let  Tier  give  it  back  to  Hugh. 
Won't  she  be  astonished  ? — and  won't  he 
be  astonished  ?  Ha !  ha !  " 

"  A  very  good  joke  indeed ! "  said 
Marchmont.  "  Let  me  see  the  picture." 

"  It's  a  stunner !  "  said  Oliver.  "  But 
you  can't  see  it  here — come  to  the  win- 
dow." 

Marchmont  advanced  to  the  window, 
where  the  lingering  May  twilight  enabled 
him  to  see  at  once  that  the  picture  in 
question  was,  as  he  had  suspected,  the 
Waldron  miniature. 

The  light  was  too  dim  to  distinguish 
the  painting,  but  tlie  pearl  setting  and 
rich  gold  chain  were  sufficient  to  identify 
it. 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  in 
that  moment  his  resolution  was  taken.  If 


AN  ABSOLUTE   STROKE   OF   LUCK." 


65 


he  could  obtain  possession  of  the  picture, 
and  induce  the  boy  to  hold  his  tongue,  he 
might — after  having  retained  it  for  a  day 
or  two  in  order  to  give  Hugh  as  much 
trouble  as  he  deserved — by  returning  i«; 
to  Miss  Waldron,  vindicate  his  own  opin- 
ion, and  prove  not  only  Hugh's  untrust- 
worthiness,  but  Archer's  also,  since  Arch- 
er had  recommended  and  indorsed  the 
young  artist. 

The  idea  was  tempting.  The  question 
was,  how  could  he  obtain  possession  of 
the  picture  in  the  first  instance,  and  se- 
cure Oliver's  silence  in  the  second  ? 

"While  he  was  considering  whether  or 
not  to  offer  a  bribe,  Oliver  spoke : 

"  You  can't  see  it  well,"  he  said,  re- 
gretfully. "  It's  awfully  pretty !  I'd  go 
and  bring  a  candle,  only  I'm  expecting 
Tom  White  every  minute.  I  wish  Amy 
would  come ! " 

"If  she  don't  come  in  time,  you  can 
leave  it  with  me,  and  1  will  give  it  to 
her,"  said  Marchmont. 

"  She's  up-stairs,  I  suspect ;  I'll  take 
it  up  there,"  said  Oliver,  who  had  no 
mind  to  lose  the  pleasure  of  his  joke. 
"You  see,  I'm  going  home  with  Tom 
White  to-night,  for  all  his  people  are 
away,  and  to-morrow  we're  going  fish- 
ing, so  I  sha'n't  see  Amy  again  till  to- 
morrow evening.  Hullo !  here's  Tom 
now." 

A  bullet-head  appeared  framed  in  the 
open  window,  as  he  spoke,  and  a  boy's 
voice  said : 

"Is  that  you,  Oliver?  Come  along! 
The  fellows  will  be  round  by  eight,  sharp, 
and  we  are  not  near  ready !  " 

"  You  had  better  give  me  the  picture," 
said  Marchmont,  in  a  low  voice. 

Oliver  hesitated  an  instant ;  then, 
"  Be  sure  and  tell  Amy  that  it's  the  like- 
ness of  Hugh's  sweetheart,"  he  said,  and 
darted  eagerly  away. 

It  was  not  Marchmont's  habit  to  in- 
dulge in  soliloquy,  but,  after  standing  for 
a  minute  motionless  where  Oliver  left  him, 
he  littered  a  subdued  laugh,  and  spoke 
aloud  :  "  Hugh's  sweetheart !  Eather 
5 


better  than  that,  my  friend,"  he  said. 
"By  Jove!  this  is  an  absolute  stroke  of 
luck!" 

At  that  moment  a  step  sounded  on  the 
staircase,  and  he  plunged' the  miniature 
hastily  into  one  of  the  outside  pockets  of 
his  coat. 

It  was  not  Amy  who  was  descending, 
however  —  unless  Amy  knew  how  to 
swear. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  the  reason  that 
there  is  no  light  anywhere  ? "  demanded 
an  irritable  voice.  "  Clara,  is  there  to  be 
no  supper  to-night  ?  " 

" Eeady  now,  sir!  "  responded  a  voice 
from  the  farther  extremity  of  the  house, 
followed  by  an  immediate  clatter  of 
dishes. 

With  a  sigh,  Marchmont  resigned  him- 
self to  the  prospect  of  not  seeing  Amy 
again.  He  was  so  far. gone  in  what  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  term  "idiocy,"  that 
he  felt  this  to  be  a  deprivation  not  easily 
borne.  There  was  no  alternative,  how- 
ever. Mr.  Reynolds  had  gone  into  the 
dining-room ;  in  another  minute  he  might 
emerge  with  a  lamp,  and  retreat  be 
cut  off. 

Marchmont  returned*  hastily  to  the 
place  where  he  had  been  sitting  when  Oli- 
ver entered,  felt  about  in  the  dark  for  his 
hat — by  no  means  an  easy  task,  for  he 
came  in  contact  with  various  objects, 
which  caused  him  to  utter  some  forci- 
ble ejaculations — placed  that  article  on 
his  head  as  soon  as  discovered,  and  took 
his  departure. 

"You  must  have  found  fishing  more 
than  usually  entertaining  this  afternoon, 
Brian,"  said  Edward  Lathrop,  with  a 
laugh,  as  they  sat  at  dinner  half  an  hour 
later — the  Lathrops  and  Waldrons  had 
introduced  the  fashion  of  late  dining  at 
Edgerton.  "Pray,  was  your  luck  any 
better  ?  When  are  we  to  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  eating  some  fish  of  your  catch- 
ing?" 

"  I  think  I  have  remarked  before,"  re- 
plied Marchmont,  with  unruffled  calm- 


66 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


ness,  "  that  catching  fish  is  the  least  agree- 
able feature  of  fishing." 

"  It  is  very  fortunate  that  you  think 
so,"  remarked  Mr.  Lathrop,  senior,  "  since 
the  fishes  are  plainly  in  no  danger  from 
you,  my  dear  boy.  If  your  fishing  is  con- 
ducted in  the  neighborhood 'of  Cedar- 
wood,  that  might,  perhaps,  account  for 
the  fact.  Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed,  papa;  you  are  very 
much  mistaken,"  said  Miss  Florence. 
"At  least,  if  Cedarwood  is  a  distraction, 
it  is  a  very  unconscious  one.  Beatrix 
was  here  this  afternoon,  and  she  ex- 
pressed a  great  deal  of  surprise  at  Brian's 
fancy ;  she  had  never  imagined  him 
addicted  to  pastoral  amusements,  she 
said." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be  useless  to  ex- 
pect a  woman  to  understand  the  pleas- 
ure of  sport  in  any  form,"  said  Edward 
Lathrop. — "I  don't  at  all  object  to  fish- 
ing myself,  and  I  think  I'll  go  with  you 
to-morrow,  Brian,  and'  see  if  the  fish 
about  here  have  forgotten  how  to  bite." 

"  You  can't  go  to-morrow,"  said  Miss 
Anna  Lathrop,  "for  we  are  all  going  to 
Cedarwood  to  a  croquet-party." 

"Is  it  to-mofrow  that  you  are  due  at 
Cedarwood?"  said  Mrs.  Lathrop,  ook- 
ing  up — in  explanation  of  which  it  may 
be  added  that  a  croquet-club  existed  in 
Edgerton,  which  met  weekly  at  the  house 
of  some  one  of  the  members. 

"  Yes,  to-morrow,"  said  Florence.  "  I 
am  always  glad  when  the  turn  of  Cedar- 
wood  comes;  everything  is  so  pleasant 
there.  It  will  be  delightful  to  feel,  some 
day,  that  one  has  a  cousinly  right  in  such 
a  charming  place,"  she  added,  with  a 
laugh,  and  a  mischievous  glance  at  Brian. 

"  It  is  never  wise  to  count  chickens 
before  they  are  hatched,"  said  Mr.  La- 
throp, with  a  smile  which  seemed  to  imply 
that  he  thought  there  was  little  danger  of 
the  chickens  in  question  not  being  satis- 
factorily hatched.  ' 

"  It  is  not  in  good  taste  to  make  such 
remarks,  Florence,"  said  Mrs.  Lathrop, 
with  a  very  unusual  sharpness  of  tone. 


There  was  a  little  stir  of  surprise 
among  the  company.  The  girls  looked  at 
their  mother,  and  then  at  their  cousin ; 
but  the  countenance  of  the  latter  was  im- 
perturbable. 

"  Cedarwood  is  certainly  a  charming 
place,"  he  said.  "I  shall  not  much  mind 
sacrificing  myself  to  croquet  —  though 
generally  I  consider  it  the  greatest  bore 
of  modern  social  life — if  the  sacrifice  is  to 
take  place  there." 

Notwithstanding  this  nonchalance,  he 
had  a  very  decided  foreboding  of  what 
was  to  come;  and  he  was  not  in  the 
least  surprised  when,  after  dinner,  his 
aunt  summoned  him  into  the  back  draw- 
ing-room, where  she  sat  alone,  in  a  large 
chair  near  the  open  window,  through 
which  the  air  of  the  soft  May  night  came 
laden  with  delicious  sweetness. 

The  front  drawing-room  was  brilliant- 
ly lighted,  but  this  room  was  left  in  par- 
tial obscurity,  and,  when  Marchmont  en- 
tered, he  could  only  perceive  the  outlines 
of  Mrs.  Lathrop's  figure  and  the  fan  she 
was  slowly  waving  back  and  forth. 

"You  will  find  a  chair  here  just  in 
front  of  me,  Brian,"  she  said.  "Sit 
down ;  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you." 

"I  am  all  attention,"  answered  Brian, 
quietly,  as  he  sat  down. 

He  knew  as  well  what  Mrs.  Lathrop 
meant  to  say  as  she  knew  herself,  and  lie 
awaited  the  disclosure  with  a  certain 
sense  of  amusement,  in  which  irritation 
mingled  but  did  not  predominate. 

Mrs.  Lathrop  on  her  part  was  glad  of 
the  semi-darkness,  for  she  felt  a  sense  of 
awkwardness  altogether  new  to  her.  She, 
who  managed  all  the  social  affairs  of 
Edgerton,  who  never  hesitated  to  advise 
the  irresolute  and  admonish  those  who 
strayed  from  the  path  of  right-doing,  was 
oddly  conscious  of  having  on  hand  at  the 
present  moment  a  culprit  beyond  the  pale 
of  her  authority — one  who  would  prob- 
ably neglect  her  advice  and  scorn  her  ad- 
monitions. 

She  hardly  acknowledged  this  con- 


"AN  ABSOLUTE   STROKE   OF   LUCK." 


67 


sciousness  to  herself,  and  she  certainly 
did  not  mean  to  betray  any  sign  of  it  in 
her  manner,  but  instinctively  she  mounted 
a  rather  higher  horse  than  usual,  when 
she  began : 

^  I  regret  to  interfere  in  what  you 
may  probably  consider  no  affair  of  mine, 
Brian,"  she  said,  in  a  very  stately  man- 
ner ;  "  but  since  you  are  staying  in  my 
house — and  I  have  always  regarded  you 
very  much  as  I  do  my  own  sons — I  feel  it 
my  duty  to  warn  you,  when  I  have 
learned  that  you  are  committing  a  very 
grave  imprudence." 

Marchmont  smiled  to  himself  at  this 
address  —  a  scornful,  impatient  smile, 
which  the  darkness  fortunately  con- 
cealed. 

"  Confound  the  woman !  why  can't 
she  speak  oub  plainly? "  he  thought ;  then, 
with  the  utmost  coolness,  he  said: 

"  You  are  very  kind,  I  am  sure ;  but 
may  I  ask,  Of  what  imprudence  have  I 
been  guilty  ? " 

"It  is  hardly  possible  that  you  do 
not  know  to  what  I  allude,"  said  Mrs. 
Lathrop,  with  an  accession  of  dignity. 
"To-day  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Eipley,  an 
invalid  who  boards  at  Mrs.  Orenshaw's, 
and  there,  to  my  utter  amazement,  I 
heard  for  the  first  time  of  your  intimate 
acquaintance  with  that  badly-reared  girl, 
the  daughter  of  Eunice's  music-teach- 
er." 

"  Poor  little  Amy !  "  said  Marchmont, 
with  a  cadence  of  amusement  which  even 
caught  Mrs.  Lathrop's  ear.  "  Is  it  possi- 
ble, Aunt  Caroline,  that  you  regard  my 
acquaintance  with  her  in  the  light  of  a 
grave  imprudence  ? " 

Mrs.  Lathrop  felt  that  this  was  of- 
fensive levity,  and  she  grew  colder  and 
stiffer  in  consequence.  . 

"I  certainly  regard  it  in  that  light, 
when  I  consider  the  character  of  the  girl, 
and  your  object  here,"  she  said.  "  You 
cannot  blind  me  by  any  such  tone  as  that, 
Brian.  I  have  not  reached  my  age  with- 
out acquiring  some  knowledge  of  the 
world.  If  you  came  here  to  marry  Be- 


atrix "Waldron,  and  if  you  want  to  marry 
her,  you  had  better  not  spend  hours  every 
day  in  the  society  of  a  girl  who,  young 
as  she  is,  has  already  acquired  a  reputa- 
tion for  being  what  is  called  '  fast.'  " 

"  My  acquaintance  with  her  was  en- 
tirely accidental,"  said  Brian,  who  felt 
that  he  must  enter  a  plea  of  defense.  "  I 
have  gone  to  her  father's  house  simply  to 
hear  her  sing,  for  she  has  a  most  wonder- 
ful voice.  She  seemed  to  me  a  mere 
child — not  older,  I  should  think,  than 
Eunice." 

"If  she  is  a  mere  child,  she  neither 
looks  nor  acts  like  one,"  said  Mrs.  La- 
thjop.  "I  don't  think  that  alters  the 
matter  at  all ;  and  I  warn  you  that  peo- 
ple are  talking  of  it,  and  that,  if  such 
reports  come  to  Beatrix  "Waldron's  ears, 
your  chances  with  her  will  be  ruined." 

"  I  must  differ  with  you  on  that  point," 
said  Marchmont,  calmly.  "Miss  Wal- 
dron has  not  only  heard  me  speak  of  my 
visits  to  Mr.  Keynolds's  house,  but  it  was 
by  my  advice  that  she  asked  Amy  to  sing 
at  her/ete." 

Mrs.  Lathrop  was  so  much  surprised 
at  this,  that  for  a  moment  she  was  silent. 
It  did  not  take  her  long,  however,  to  rally 
her  forces. 

"That  may  be  possible,"  she  said, 
"  and  yet  Beatrix  may  not  know  the  ex- 
tent of  your  intimacy,  or  the  gossip  that 
has  risen  with  regard  to  it.  No  doubt 
you  feel  that  it  is  altogether  your  own 
affair  " — this  was  so  true,  that  Marchmont 
did  not  contradict  her — "but,  although 
I  have  no  good  opinion  of  the  girl,  I  shall 
make  it  my  affair  sufficiently  to  warn  her 
father  that  he  had  better  look  more  care- 
fully after  her,  if  he  does  not  wish  her  to 
suffer  seriously  in  her  reputation." 

"Aunt  Caroline,"  said  Marchmont, 
starting  with  an  energy  which  contrast- 
ed very  strongly  with  his  previous  in- 
difference, "you  surely  will  do  no  such 
thing!" 

"  I  certainly  shall  do  it,  for  the  sake 
of  Mr.  Reynolds,  whom  I  have  known  as 
an  honest,  hard-working  man,"  answered 


68 


AFTER  MANY    DATS. 


Mrs.  Lathrop,  majestically.  Then  she 
rose.  "This  has  been  an  unpleasant 
duty,  Brian,  but  I  have  discharged  it  as 
a  duty,"  she  said.  "  My  conscience  being 
clear,  I  shall  not  trouble  you  with  the 
subject  again.  Though  I  do  not  think 
Beatrix  and  yourself  calculated  to  make 
each  other  happy,  I  will  not  interfere  in 
any  manner  with  your  suit;  but  if  this 
matter  is  told  to  her,  as  it  has  been  told 
to  me,  she  is  far  too  proud  a  woman  to 
forgive  it." 

The  clear  tones  ceased,  the  speaker 
swept  away  with  a  rustle  of  silk,  and 
Marchmont  found  himself  alone,  with 
feelings  more  uncomfortable  than  he  had 
at  all  anticipated. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  whether, 
for  a  time,  anger,  disgust,  or  contempt 
possessed  him  most  strongly.  In  these 
sentiments  his  aunt,  himself,  Beatrix,  ev- 
erybody except  Amy,  shared.  It  seemed 
incredible  that  he  should  be  the  subject 
of  petty  village  gossip — should  be  lectured 
like  a  schoolboy,  and  hampered  in  the 
pursuit  of  any  amusement  that  offered 
itself  to  him.  "I  have  half  a  mind  to 
turn  my  back  on  the  whole  affair !  "  he 
thought,  with  wrathful  scorn.  Naturally, 
however,  other  counsels  prevailed.  "It 
is  fate !  "  he  thought,  with  that  conven- 
ient optimism  which  comes  so  easily  to 
men.  "  I  must  stay  until  the  last  act  is 
played.  How  lovely  she  is ! "  He  was 
thinking  of  Amy's  face  as  she  lifted  it 
that  afternoon,  when  he  wrung  from  her 
a  confession  of  her  love.  "  Many  men  in 
my  place  would  play  the  villain  ;  indeed, 
a  few  would  fling  all  thoughts  of  the  world 
to  the  winds!  J  shall  simply  linger  a 
little  longer,  and  then  go,  leaving  only  a 
girl's  bruised  fancy  behind.  Such  things 
are  often  good  for  women  who  have  a 
public  career  before  them.  She  will  be 
all  the  more  invincible  for  being  a  little 
hardened." 

It  was  natural,  no  doubt,  that  of  the 
cost  of  this  hardening  Mr.  Marchmont 
did  not  pause  to  think — epicurean  phi- 
losophers in  his  position  rarely  do ;  but, 


as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  deaf  to 
the  strains  of  the  piano,  or  the  gay  voices 
and  laughter  which  issued  from  the  next 
room,  one  hand  unconsciously  sought  his 
coat-pocket,  and  the  gesture  reminded 
him  of  the  miniature  which  had  so 
strangely  come  into  his  possession  a  short 
time  before. 

It  was  not  in  his  pocket,  since  he  had 
hastily  changed  his  dress  on  returning  to 
the  house  in  time  for  dinner,  and  he  now 
remembered  that  he  had  left  the  coat 
which  he  took  off  lying  across  a  chair, 
with  the  miniature  still  in  its  pocket. 
"  How  careless  1 "  he  thought,  as  he  rose 
at  once  and  went  to  his  chamber — not 
because  he  feared  that  anything  would 
befall  the  picture,  or  that  any  one  could 
possibly  chance  to  see  it,  but  because  he 
wished  to  examine  it  before  putting  it 
away. 

The  coat  was  lying  exactly  where  he 
had  thrown  it,  and,  taking  it  up,  he  ran 
his  hand  into  the  pocket  where  the  min- 
iature had  been  placed.  It  encountered 
only  a  handkerchief !  He  hurriedly  drew 
this  out,  and  felt  again ;  there  was  noth- 
ing !  He  turned  the  pocket  inside  out ; 
still  nothing !  Then  he  plunged  his  hand 
in  succession  into  all  the  pockets,  examin- 
ing each  one  carefully.  The  result  with 
each  was  identical — the  miniature  was 
not  to  be  found. 

"When  he  fully  realized  this,  he  stood 
gazing  blankly  at  the  coat,  which  he  held 
by  the  collar;  then  he  went  over  all  the 
pockets  again,  and  felt  the  lining  care- 
fully around  each  one ;  then  he  shook  the 
garment  violently,  and,  all  measures  fail- 
ing to  produce  the  missing  picture,  flung 
it  aside  and  began  examining  the  carpet 
under  and  around  the  chair  over  which 
it  had  been  thrown.  From  this  place  his 
search  extended  throughout  the  room; 
but,  after  all  probable  and  improbable 
places  bad  been  searched,  he  was  obliged 
to  face  the  same  fact  which  had  brought 
dismay  to  Hugh  Dinsmore's  breast  a  few 
hours  before. 

The  miniature  was  gone  ! 


WHERE   IS   THE   MINIATURE?" 


69 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"  WHERE   IS   THE    MIXIATURE  ?  " 

THE  Reynolds  family,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Oliver — whose  absence  was  hard- 
ly observed  and  not  at  all  remarked — 
were  assembled  at  supper,  when  Hugh 
Dinsmore  suddenly  burst  in  upon  them, 
his  face  white,  his  eyes  startled,  his  lips 
apart. 

"  Mercy,  Hugh !  what  is  the  matter  ? " 
cried  Amy,  who  saw  him  first ;  but,  for 
once,  Hugh  paid  no  attention  to  her 
presence  or  her  words.  He  did  not  even 
seem  to  hear  her ;  his  eyes  sought  only 
one  face,  and,  when  they  found  that,  he 
cried,  breathlessly: 

"  Felix,  for  Heaven's  sake,  give  me  that 
picture !  This  is  a  poor  jest !  " 

"Give  you  what?"  asked  Felix, 
amazed.  "  I  have  nothing  of  yours." 

"You  have!"  cried  Hugh.  "You 
must  have,  Felix  !  "  There  was  absolute 
agony  in  his  tone.  "  This  is  no  time  for 
trifling.  I  ran  every  step  of  the  way  here 
as  soon  as  I  discovered  the  picture  was 
gone,  and  I  said  to  myself,  at  every  step, 
'  Felix  has  taken  it  for  a  jest.'  But  it  is 
a  cruel  jest !  Give  it  to  me." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about,"  said  Felix,  bewildered.  "  I  have 
not  any  picture  of  yours!  I  went  to 
your  room  a  little  while  ago,  but  you  were 
not  there,  so  I  did  not  stop  a  minute ;  I 
ran  down-stairs  and  asked  Mrs.  Sargent 
about  you,  and,  when  she  said  she  didn't 
know  when  you  would  be  back,  I  came 
away.  How  could  you  think  I  would 
touch  your  things — much  less  carry  any- 
thing off?" 

Hugh's  face  seemed  to  sharpen  mo- 
mently in  anxiety.  He  clutched  the  back 
of  a  chair,  and  looked  at  the  boy  with  a 
gaze  of  passionate  entreaty. 

"  Mrs.  Sargent  declares  that  you  are 
the  only  person  who  went  to  my  room 
during  my  absence,"  he  said.  "  The  pict- 
ure that  I  left  by  the  window  is  gone. 


Who  else  could  have  taken  it  ?  Felix,  I 
can  never  believe  that  you  meant  harm 
if  you  will  only  give  it  back — give  it 
now  /" 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Reynolds,  whom  astonishment  had 
kept  quiet.  "  What  is  he  talking  about, 
Felix  ? " 

"It  seems  he  suspects  me  of  having 
taken  some  picture  out  of  his  room,"  an- 
swered Felix.  "  I  don't  know  any  more 
than  that.  I  didn't  enter  his  room ;  I 
only  looked  in,  and  I  touched  noth- 
ing." 

Mr.  Reynolds  turned  to  Hugh,  with 
the  blood  mounting  in  a  dark  tide  to  his 
face. 

"You  hear  that!  "  he  said,  haughtily. 
"My  son's  denial  is  sufficient — though 
how  you  could  have  ventured  to  suspect 
him,  I  do  not  understand." 

"  How  could  I  help  it  ?  "  said  Hugh, 
hoarsely.  "  The  picture  is  gone — the 
picture  that  was  trusted  to  me — and  that 
means  everything  for  me.  No  one  went  to 
my  room  during  my  absence  but  Felix — " 

"  And  you  dare  to  think  that  Felix 
took  your  picture !  "  cried  Amy,  with 
eyes  all  ablaze.  "Hasn't  he  told  you 
that  he  did  not  touch  it  ?  I  never  heard 
anything  more  infamous !  You  will  say 
next  that  he  stole  it !  " 

"  Hush,  Amy !  "  said  Felix.  He  alone 
understood  the  terrible  blankness  that 
came  over  Hugh's  face,  and,  rising  from 
his  seat,  he  walked  round  the  table  and 
touched  the  elder  boy's  hand.  "I  did 
not  take  it,"  he  said,  gently.  "  On  my 
honor,  I  touched  nothing  in  your  room. 
If  you  have  lost  anything  valuable,  let  us 
go  and  look  for  it." 

"  Look  for  it !  I  have  looked !  "  cried 
poor  Hugh.  "  It  is  gone — utterly  gone  ! 
If  you  have  not  got  it,  Felix,  I  am  ruined !  " 

The  despair  of  the  last  words  touched 
even  Amy. 

"What  was  it,  Hugh?  Surely  not 
Miss  Waldron's  miniature?  "  she  said. 

"Yes;  Miss  Waldron's  miniature!" 
answered  Hugh. 


70 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


Then  he  told  his  woful  story — how  he 
had  been  called  away  from  his  room;  how 
for  the  first  time  he  had  neglected  to  lock 
up  the  miniature,  and  how  it  had  disap- 
peared. 

"  God  only  knows  what  I  am  to  do !  " 
he  said,  twining  and  untwining  his  thin, 
nervous  fingers.  "  I  do  not  know  where 
to  turn— what  to  do !  There  was  no  one 
in  my  room  but  Felix — " 

Mr.  Reynolds  pushed  back  his  chair 
and  rose  from  the  table. 

"You  harp  on  that,"  he  said,  sternly, 
"  as  if  you  doubted  Felix's  assurance  that 
he  did  not  touch  the  picture.  I  am  sorry 
for  your  misfortune,  but  you  have  plain- 
ly only  your  own  carelessness  to  blame. 
The  sooner  you  realize  this,  the  better. — 
Felix,  come  with  me ;  I  am  going  to  Herr 
Meerbach's." 

He  walked  out  of  the  room,  but  Felix 
paused  to  throw  his  arms  around  Hugh's 
neck. 

"  I  am  not  vexed,"  he  whispered.  "  I 
know  you  don't  mean  anything.  I  wish 
I  had  taken  the  picture;  then  I  could 
give  it  back  to  you.  I  am  so  sorry — so 
sorry ! " 

"  I  am  satisfied  with  your  word  that 
you  did  not  take  it,"  said  Hugh,  huskily. 
"  I  never  thought  you  had  done  so — ex- 
cept as  a  jest." 

"  Was  it  your  picture,  Hugh  ?  "  asked 
Ernest,  curiously,  unable  to  understand 
such  excessive  concern  with  regard  to 
the  property  of  any  one  else. 

"  Eat  you  supper,  and  don't  ask  ques- 
tions about  what  don't  concern  you ! " 
said  Amy,  sharply. — "  Come  into  the 
parlor  with  me,  Hugh." 

Hugh  followed  her,  and  they  entered 
the  room  where,  a  short  time  before,  the 
miniature,  which  was  causing  him  so 
much  wretchedness,  had  changed  hands. 

By  the  very  window  where  Oliver  and 
Marchmont  had  stood  Amy  sat  down, 
while  Hugh  paced  back  and  forth  like 
an  unquiet  spirit. 

"  What  is  the  good  of  taking  the  thing 
so  desperately  to  heart,  Hugh  ? "  she  said,  1 


watching  him.  "  I  don't  believe  anybody 
has  stolen  the  picture.  What  would  any- 
body want  with  it?  It  is  valuable  to  the 
Waldrons,  no  doubt;  but  nobody  else 
would  consider  it  so." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Hugh.  "  It 
is  not  only  valuable  as  a  work  of  art,  but 
it  is  set  in  very  fine  pearls. — I  feel  as  if  I 
were  wasting  time  in  staying  here!  "  he 
cried  out,  suddenly;  "but  what  can  I 
do? — where  can  I  go? " 

Amy  could  give  him  no  advice  on  this 
point.  She  offered  vague  consolation  in 
the  form  of  a  remark  that  she  had  no 
doubt  the  miniature  would  "  turn  up ;  " 
but  beyond  that  she  was  not  able  to  vent- 
ure. 

"I  have  no  hope  of  such  a  thing," 
said  Hugh.  "  It  is  not  lost — it  has  been 
taken.  Who  would  take  it  and  return 
it?  My  only  hope  was  that  Felix  had 
done  so.  But,  whoever  has  taken  it, 
the  responsibility  and  the  suspicion  fall 
on  me." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Amy. 

The  words  were  so  gentle,  that,  in  the 
midst  of  all  his  trouble,  Hugh's  heart  gave 
a  throb.  Despite  his  wretchedness,  he 
could  not  feel  that  everything  was  lost 
when  Amy  was  sorry. 

"  It  seemed  as  if  life  was  beginning 
for  me — the  kind  of  life  I  desire,"  he 
said,  with  something  like  a  sob  in  his 
voice.  "  Now  it  is  all  over !  I  must  go 
to  Mr.  Archer  and  tell  him.  Oh,  what 
will  he  and  Miss  Waldron  think  of  me  ? " 

"  Why  should  you  go  to  Mr.  Archer  ?  " 
asked  Amy.  "  He  is  a  very  disagreeable 
person — isn't  he  ?  " 

"He  has  never  been  disagreeable  to 
me,"  said  Hugh;  and  then  he  remem- 
bered that  it  was  Archer's  summons 
which  made  him  leave  the  miniature,  and 
what  the  cause  of  that  summons  was. 

So  great  had  been  his  distress  and 
anxiety  that  for  a  time  he  had  entire- 
ly forgotten  this.  Now  it  came  back  to 
him  like  a  dart  of  pain.  He  stopped  ab- 
ruptly and  looked  at  the  girl,  who  was 
sitting  by  the  open  casement  in  the  dim 


"WHERE  IS  THE   MINIATURE?" 


71 


light.  Should  he  tell  her? — would  there 
be  any  good  in  telling  her  what  he  had 
heard?" 

"Amy,"  he  said,  after  a  minute,  "  the 
last  time  that  I  saw  you  I  made  you  an- 
gry. I  shall  be  sorry  to  make  you  angry 
again,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I  must  warn 
you  once  more  that  Marchmont  is  acting 
toward  you  like  a  scoundrel !  " 

"  What  do  you  know  of  him  ?  What 
do  you  mean  by  saying  such  a  thing  to 
me?"  asked  Amy,  with  quick  defiance. 
"  One  would  think  you  had  some  right  to 
interfere  with  my  affairs ;  but  you  have 
not  the  least !  " 

"  Only  the  right  of  loving  you  a  great 
deal  better  than  he  does,"  said  Hugh.  "I 
would  sooner  die  than  harm  you;  but 
he  is  harming  you  more  than  you  know. 
You  are  quite  young,  but  have  you  no 
pride  of  a  woman,"  he  said,  pausing  be- 
fore her,  "  that  you  let  a  man  make  love 
to  you,  and  win  your  heart,  when  he  has 
no  idea  of  marrying  you  ? " 

Something  in  the  grave,  half-sorrow- 
ful words  thrilled  Amy.  She  was  not  so 
much  a  child  but  that  she  had  a  little  of 
that  "pride  of  a  woman"  of  which  Hugh 
spoke,  and  it  now  brought  the  blood  to 
her  cheeks  in  a  tide. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  talk- 
ing about,"  she  said,  haughtily,  "and  you 
are  meddling  in  what  does  not  concern 
you.  If  Mr.  Marchmont  and  I  under- 
stand each  other,  that  is  enough." 

"I  doubt  very  much  if  you  under- 
stand him"  said  Hugh.  "  He  is  amusing 
himself  with  you,  my  poor  Amy;  and, 
when  he  is  tired,  he  will  leave  you,  with- 
out one  thought  of  your  distress." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  it,"  said  Amy. 
"  I  know  that  you  think  me  a  fool ;  but  a 
woman — even  one  so  young  as  I  am — can 
tell  when  a  man  really  loves  her." 

"Then,  if  he  really  loves  you,"  said 
Hugh,  "  what  part  is  he  playing  with  an- 
other woman?  He  certainly  is  trying  to 
marry  Miss  Waldron." 

"I  don't  believe  it!  "  she  flashed  out. 
"I  don't  believe  anything  you  tell  me  of 


him !  You  have  never  liked  him — you 
were  jealous  of  him  from  the  first." 

"Yes,  I  have  been  jealous  of  him," 
the  quiet  tones  replied — tones  that  she 
could  hardly  recognize  as  Hugh's;  "but 
I  am  not  jealous  any  longer.  I  have 
heard — Amy,  do  you  know  what  I  have 
heard  this  evening? " 

"  How  should  1  know  ?  "  asked  Amy ; 
but  she  shrank  a  little  as  she  spoke. 

Conscience  makes  cowards  of  us  all-. 
She  remembered  how  often  she  had  met 
Marchmont  lately,  and  she  doubted  not 
that  some  rumor  of  those  meetings  had 
come  to  Hugh's  ears. 

As  for  Hugh,  the  words  which  he 
would  fain  have  uttered  seemed  to  choke 
him.  He  felt  that  he  literally  could  not 
repeat  Archer's  account..  Instead  of  do- 
ing so,  he  held  out  his  hand,  abruptly. 

"Good-by,"  he  said.  "I  can  do  no 
good  here.  You  will  not  heed  me  ;  you 
do  not  believe  me.  If  I  serve  you,  it 
must  be  in  another  way." 

"  There  is  no  way  in  which  you  can 
serve  me,"  answered  Amy,  proudly. 
Then  she  softened  a  little.  "  Good-by  ; 
and  oh,  I  hope  you  will  find  the  picture !  " 
she  said. 

"  Would  to  God  I  had  never  seen  it!  " 
Hugh  answered,  in  a  tone  of  despair. 

From  the  Eeynolds  house  he  went 
straight  to  the  hotel  where  Archer  lodged, 
and  fortunately  found  the  latter,  who 
heard  of  the  loss  of  the  miniature  with 
great  surprise  and  concern. 

For  a  moment — only  for  a  moment — 
he  looked  suspiciously  at  Hugh;  but  it 
was  impossible  to  doubt  the  genuine  dis- 
tress and  anxiety  which  the  boy  was  en- 
during; and  the  young  lawyer  was  too 
shrewd  a  judge  of  human  nature  to  mis- 
take reality  for  a  counterfeit. 

"I  am  truly  sorry  that  the  loss  was 
owing  to  my  summons,"  he  said;  "but 
this  gives  mo  an  additional  reason  for 
making  every  possible  effort  to  recover 
the  picture.  Whom  do  you  suspect  of 
the  .theft  ?  Are  there  any  dishonest  ser- 
vants in  your  boarding-house  ?  " 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


"  There  is  only  one  servant,"  answered 
Hugh,  "  and  she  was  occupied  at  the  time, 
for  the  family  were  at  supper.  Mrs.  Sar- 
gent is  positive  that  nobody  in  the  house 
went  to  my  room  while  I  was  out." 

"Nobody  in  the  house!  Did  some- 
body out  of  the  house  go  to  it,  then?  " 

"  Felix  Reynolds  went  to  it,"  answered 
Hugh,  who  knew  that  Mrs.  Sargent  would 
tell  this  if  he  failed  to  do  so.  "  I  have 
been  to  him,  but  he  says  that  he  did  not 
touch  the  picture — that  he  did  not  even 
enter  the  room  when  he  found  I  was  not 
there." 

"  What  he  says  is  of  small  importance," 
returned  Mr.  Archer.  "  If  he  was  the 
only  person  who  went  to  your  room  dur- 
ing your  absence,  he  must  have  taken  the 
picture." 

"I  am  sure  he  did  not!  "  said  Hugh, 
eagerly.  "You  don't  know  Felix — you 
don't  know  how  little  he  would  be  likely 
to  do  such  a  thing!  I  thought,  at  first, 
that  he  might  have  taken  it  for  a  jest, 
but  I  soon  saw  he  had  not.  He  was 
amazed  when  I  spoke  of  it." 

"I  don't  think  that  your  opinion  is 
greatly  to  be  relied  upon  with  regard  to 
any  of  the  Reynolds  family,"  said  Archer, 
dryly.  "  Come !  I'll  go  to  your  boarding- 
house  at  once,  and  see  what  sort  of  a  de- 
tective I  shall  make." 

To  the  boarding-house  he  accordingly 
went,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  elicit- 
ed beyond  what  Hugh  had  stated. 

Another  search  demonstrated  afresh 
the  fact  that  the  miniature  was  gone; 
while  Mrs.  Sargent  professed  her  readi- 
ness to  take  "her  Bible  oath"  that  no 
one  had  been  in  Hugh's  room  during  his 
absence  except  Felix  Reynolds. 

Every  member  of  the  household  proved 
an  alibi,  and  Archer  was  justified  by  the 
facts  of  the  case,  when  he  said  to  Hugh : 

"  I  have  perfect  faith  in  your  honesty, 
but  you  must  understand  this :  you  can- 
not shield  young  Reynolds  without  incur- 
ring suspicion  yourself.  Unless  you  have 
disposed  of  the  picture,  he  must  have 
taken  it ;  there  is  no  third  alternative." 


With  these  words  he  went  away,  and 
left  poor  Hugh  steeped  in  double  wretch- 
edness. So  his  unhappy  fate  was  to  in- 
volve Felix  as  well  as  himself! 

Although  the  mystery  attending  the 
disappearance  of  the  picture  grew  deep- 
er, he  could  not  believe  that  Felix  had 
taken  it. 

On  the  many  miserable  thoughts  which 
haunted  him,  on  the  fears  that  beset  him 
—  fears  of  the  disgrace  which  seemed 
ready  to  fall  on  his  head — it  is  not  worth 
while  to  dwell.  Mrs.  Sargent's  sleep  was 
sadly  broken  during  the  long  hours  of  the 
night  by  the  steady  tread  overhead,  that 
never  ceased  until  morning  broke  in  the 
east. 

Long,  golden  sunshine  streaming  on 
green,  close -shorn  turf,  croquet -hoops 
set,  croquet-balls  rolling,  brightly-dressed 
groups  of  girls  and  sombrely  -  dressed 
groups  of  young  men  scattered  here  and 
there,  gay  voices  sounding,  gay  laughter 
ringing — such  was  the  scene  which  the 
lawn  of  Cedarwood  presented  at  four 
o'clock  on  the  afternoon  when  the  cro- 
quet-club met  there. 

For  those  watching  the  game  or  rest- 
ing from  it,  chairs  and  rugs  were  placed 
near;  but  the  young  hostess  was  neither 
among  the  players  nor  spectators. 

When  the  question  was  asked,  "Where 
is  Miss  Waldron  ? "  some  one  answered, 
with  a  laugh,  "  Sitting  under  the  cedars 
with  Mr.  Marchmont." 

Yet  this  fact  by  no  means  implied  a 
withdrawal  from  the  scene  of  gayety,  for, 
although  croquet  was  the  ostensible  ob- 
ject of  the  gathering,  it  by  no  means 
monopolized  the  attention  of  the  com- 
pany. 

Ladies  and  their  cavaliers  strolled  back 
and  forth  across  the  lawn,  passed  through 
the  portico  and  hall  to  the  dining-room, 
where  a  collation  was  spread,  and  flitted 
in  and  out  of  the  wide-open  drawing-room 
windows.  The  appearance  of  the  entire 
scene  was  festive  in  the  extreme. 

Miss  Waldron,  who  was  seated  under 


"WHERE   IS   THE   MINIATURE?" 


73 


the  large  cedars,  gazed  at  it  with  absent 
thoughts. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  reply  to  a  remark 
from  her  companion,  "I  am  thoroughly 
out  of  sorts.  I  have  been  greatly  shocked 
and  distressed  to-day,  and  all  this  Jars 
upon  my  mood.  Do  you  not  think  " — 
she  put  up  her  fan  just  here,  as  if  to  shade 
her  eyes — "  that  there  is  something  dread- 
ful, something  that  one  cannot  easily  re- 
cover from,  in  finding  treachery  where 
one  expected  fidelity? " 

"It  might  be  dreadful,  perhaps,"  said 
Marchmont,  who  knew,  or  thought  he 
knew,  to  what  she  alluded,  "if  one  did 
not  find  it  to  be  the  case  so  often.  After 
all,  the  best  rule  in  life  is  that  of  trusting 
nobody.  This  may  sound  cynical,  but, 
unhappily,  cynicism  is  often  only  another 
name  for  worldly  wisdom." 

"  And  you  think  it  -wise  to  trust  no- 
body ? "  she  said,  regarding  him  keenly. 
"  How  about  yourself  ?  Do  you  not  trust 
anybody  ? — do  you  not  wish  any  one  to 
trust  you?" 

He  started. 

"  I  was  not  speaking  of  myself,"  he 
said  ;  "  I  did  not  imagine  that  you  would 
suppose  so.  I  thought  you  were  alluding 
to  some  dishonesty  on  the  part  of  one 
whom  you  had  trusted." 

"I  do  not  think  I  said  so,"  she  re- 
plied, "but  you  are  right.  Do  you  re- 
member the  miniature  of  which  I  spoke 
to  you  once  or  twice,  and  which  I  gave 
young  Dinsmore  to  copy?  You  warned 
mo  against  the  risk  of  doing  so,  and  it  is 
a  pity  that  I  did  not  act  on  your  advice, 
for  it  is  lost." 

"  Lost !  "  repeated  Marchmont. 

He  was  expecting  this,  and  had  pre- 
pared all  his  well-trained  forces  of  self- 
control,  but  nevertheless  he  was  conscious 
of  changing  color,  and  he  could  utter 
nothing  besides  that  word. 

"  Yes,  lost !  "  said  Miss  Waldron,  af- 
ter a  moment's  pause.  "  The  boy  came 
here  this  morning,  in  deep  distress,  to  tell 
me  that  it  was  taken  from  his  room  while 
he  was  absent  for  a  short  time  yesterday 


evening.  I  say  taken,  because  that  was 
his  story,  but  how  much  of  it  to  believe  I 
do  not  know.  He  looks  so  honest,  that  I 
am  loath  to  suspect  him  of  having  stolen 
it  myself,  but  I  cannot  close  my  eyes  to 
the  suspicious  aspect  of  the  affair." 

"I  told  you  it  would  be,"  said  March- 
mont, who  had  by  this  time  regained  his 
composure.  "I  felt  that  it  was  a  great 
risk  to  intrust  anything  so  valuable  to  an 
utterly  irresponsible  person." 

"  And  you  think  I  am  right  in  svispect- 
ing  him?  I  can  hardly  bear  to  think  so." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  avoid  doing 
so.  It  is  at  least  certain  that  he  has  been 
guilty  of  gross  carelessness,  if  not  of  dis- 
honesty. But  the  presumption  is  strong 
with  regard  to  the  last." 

"  I  cannot  give  you  any  idea  of  how 
much  it  worries  me,"  she  said,  still  keep- 
ing her  fan  over  her  eyes.  "  I  have  not 
told  papa  yet,  because  I  dislike  to  an- 
noy him.  If  the  mystery  could  only 
be  cleared  up,  I  should  be  so  much  re- 
lieved !  " 

"What  mystery  is  there?"  asked 
Marchmont,  with  an  uneasiness  which 
was  not  outwardly  manifest.  "  You 
surely  don't  apply  that  term  to  the  sim- 
ple fact  that  the  miniature  has  been 
lost?" 

"  The  fact  does  not  seem  to  be  simple," 
she  answered.  "Mr.  Archer  was  here 
this  morning,  and,  like  myself,  he  is  at  a 
loss  what  to  believe." 

"I  wonder  that  you  attach  the  least 
importance  to  Archer's  opinion,"  said 
Marchmont,  scornfully.  "  It  was  he  who 
recommended  the  boy,  who  has  proved  so 
unworthy  of  your  trust." 

"  It  was  at  my  request  that  he  took 
the  trouble  to  find  out  the  boy's  charac- 
ter— not  to  give  him  one,"  she  replied, 
with  a  certain  stateliness.  "  If  there  has 
been  a  mistake  in  the  matter,  it  is  mine, 
not  his.  But  I  want  your  opinion  on  the 
question  which  puzzles  us  both.  You 
must  understand  that  Mr.  Archer  sent  for 
Hugh  about  dusk  yesterday  evening,  and 
that  while  the  boy  was  gone  only  one 


74 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


person  went  to  his  room.  That  person 
was  one  of  the  young  Reynoldses." 

"  What!  "  said  Marchmont.  Surprise 
and  dismay  overmastered  him,  and  he 
could  not  restrain  the  expression  of  both. 
"  Great  Heaven  1 "  he  thought,  "  can  it  be 
possible  that,  after  all,  the  little  wretch 
has  betrayed  me  ?  " 

"The  one  named  Felix,"  said  Miss 
Waldron,  calmly.  "  Hugh  is  positive  that 
he  did  not  touch  the  picture;  but,  as 
Mr.  Archer  remarks,  the  matter  lies  be- 
tween the  two.  If  no  one  else  entered  the 
room,  one  or  the  other  must  be  guilty." 

Was  it  only  Marchmont's  fancy,  or  did 
she  slightly  emphasize  that  "  if  "  ?  It  was 
the  first  intimation  he  had  had  of  Felix's 
connection  with  the  matter,  and  it  startled 
him.  Clearly  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  throw  the  weight  of  his  opin- 
ion against  Hugh. 

"I  have  no  idea  that  young  Reynolds 
did  take  the  picture,"  he  said,  "and  Dins- 
more's  bringing  in  his  name  looks  suspi- 
cious. If  one  person  went  to  his  room, 
why  should  not  another  have»done  so — 
some  confederate,  perhaps,  who  was  to 
steal  the  picture  ?  The  fact  of  his  going 
away  and  leaving  the  picture  exposed, 
with  the  door  open,  looks  ^ery  much  like 
this!" 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  Then  you  believe 
that  he  is  accountable  for  its  loss  ?  " 

Marchmont  would  willingly  have 
avoided  a  direct  answer  to  this  question, 
but  there  was  no  alternative ;  and  after 
all,  in  a  certain  sense,  Hugh,  and  Hugh 
alone,  was  accountable  for  the  loss  of  the 
picture.  "  Yes — I  believe  so,"  he  an- 
swered; "I  can  see  nothing  else  to  be- 
lieve." 

Silence  followed  this  reply.  Laughter 
and  challenging  words,  together  with  the 
clink  of  mallets  and  balls,  came  ringing 
from  the  croquet-ground,  while  through 
the  open  drawing-room  windows  floated 
the  music  of  the  piano  and  a  high,  clear 
voice  singing  a  popular  song. 

"  Fanny  Stewart  sings  very  well," 
said  Miss  Waldron,  presently,  "  but  there 


is  no  voice  in  Edgerton  that  can  compare 
with  that  of  your  soprano,  Mr.  March- 
mont." 

"  You  mean  Amy  Reynolds,"  said 
Marchmont,  as  indifferently  as  possible. 
"  She  certainly  has  a  very  fine  voice." 
Then  he  added,  though  he  scarcely  knew 
why,  "  Have  you  seen  her  lately  ?  " 

"I  went  to  see  her  yesterday  after- 
noon, in  order  to  make  some  arrangement 
about  her  appearance  at  the/ete,  but  I 
did  not  find  her  at  home,"  answered  Miss 
Waldron.  "  The  little  girl  whom  I  saw 
— her  younger  sister,  I  believe — said  she 
had  gone  to  walk.  Perhaps  you  chanced 
to  meet  her  ? " 

"  I  ? " — lifting  his  eyebrows  carelessly. 
"  Certainly  not.  Why  should  you  im- 
agine such  a  thing? " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  rose  from  her 
seat,  looking  very  handsome,  with  her 
rich  draperies  sweeping  round  her ;  while, 
under  the  straw  hat  which  she  wore,  her 
cheeks  had  a  crimson  flush,  her  eyes  a 
starry  gleam. 

"  I  must  not  detain  you  here,  listening 
to  my  annoyances,"  she  said.  "Are  you 
fond  of  croquet?  Let  us  go  over  to  the 
ground." 

"  What  have  I  done,  that  you  should 
forsake  the  beautiful  shade  of  these  ce- 
dars for  that  chattering  mob  yonder?" 
asked  Marchmont,  with  the  impatience 
which  is  often  the  best  compliment  that 
can  be  paid  a  woman.  "  Pray  don't  go 
— unless  you  are  tired  of  me." 

"  One  grows  tired  of  sitting  still,"  she 
said,  lightly.  "  I  am  naturally  restless. 
If  you  object  to  croquet,  let  us  go  to  the 
fernery." 

"The  fernery,  by  all  means!  "  he  an- 
swered, sauntering  along  by  her  side  over 
the  soft  green  turf,  on  which  the  sunshine 
lay  like  a  mantle  of  gold. 

Everything  was  so  gay  and  bright 
around  them,  and  the  whole  scene  so 
significant  of  luxury,  pleasure,  and  that 
holiday  side  of  life  which  makes  up  ex- 
istence for  the  children  of  prosperity, 
that  any  disturbing  thought  of  annoy- 


MRS.   LATHROP  FULFILLS  A  DUTY. 


75 


ance  or  pain  seemed  like  an  intrusion 
on  the  harmony  of  the  surroundings. 
Marchmont  felt  this,  and,  being  preemi- 
nently epicurean,  he  found  no  difficulty 
in  banishing  all  such  reflections  from  his 
mind.  The  attraction  which  Beatrix  had 
for  him  was  altogether  different  from 
Amy's  seduisante  beauty,  so  the  two  did 
not  conflict ;  and  no  woman  could  have 
desired  more  devotion  of  look  and  tone 
than  was  displayed  in  his  manner. 

When  they  entered  the  fernery  he  felt 
that  Fate  was  propitious  to  him.  Here 
he  had  made  his  declaration,  and  here  all 
the  associations  were  in  his  favor. 

He  was  by  no  means  an  impatient 
suitor,  and  entertained  no  doubt  as  to 
what  Miss  Waldron's  final  answer  would 
be ;  but  he  was  not  averse  to  exchanging 
suspense  for  comfortable  certainty  as  soon 
as  possible. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  last  time  we 
were  here  together  ? "  he  asked,  sinking 
his  voice  to  that  key  of  perilous  softness 
which  is  so  often  affected  by  men  of  his 
stamp,  as  they  slowly  walked  between 
the  graceful,  broad-leafed  plants. 

"  I  remember  that  I  tried  to  interest 
you  in  the  different  varieties  of  ferns,  and 
failed  utterly — if  that  is  what  you  mean," 
said  Miss  Waldron. 

"  That  is  not  exactly  what  I  meant," 
he  answered,  with  a  slight  laugh.  "I  am 
afraid  I  shall  repeat  myself,  if  I  say  that 
my  want  of  interest  was  easily  account- 
ed for  by  preoccupation  ;  but  it  is  true, 
nevertheless." 

"Preoccupation  in  me  understood,  I 
presume?"  she  said,  coolly,  and  if  her 
lip  curled,  he  did  not  observe  it. 

"Preoccupation  in  you  certainly  xm- 
derstood  1 "  he  answered.  "  Could  it  be 
otherwise,  when  I  was  here  with  you? " 

"That  is  a  question  which  modesty 
forbids  me  to  answer,"  she  said;  "but, 
since  you  recall  the  occasion  so  well,  I  sup- 
pose you  also  remember  that  I  gave  you 
a  fern — one  of  these  " — she  paused  before 
a  plant  bearing  fairy -like  fronds.  "I 
wonder  if  you  have  it  yet  ?  " 


If  Marchmont  had  answered  truly,  he 
would  have  said  that  he  had  never  thought 
of  the  fern  after  it  had  been  given  to  him, 
and  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  its  fate ; 
but  he  was  the  last  man  in  the  world  to 
tell  an  awkward  or  uncomplimentary 
truth  simply  because  it  was  the  truth. 
Therefore  he  answered,  promptly : 

"  Of  course  I  have  it  yet.  Do  you 
think  I  could  have  failed  to  value  and 
preserve  it  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  M.en  do 
not  usually  value  trifling  souvenirs  of 
the  kind.  Women — not  men — preserve 
faded  flowers  and  leaves  as  if  they  were 
priceless  treasures — poor  fools  that  they 
are !  "  she  added,  in  a  tone  of  half -sad 
contempt. 

"  Then  we  are  all  fools  together,"  said 
Marchmont,  smiling,  "for  men  are  guilty 
of  such  folly  as  often  as  women.  Do  you 
remember  the  reason  that  Owen  Meredith, 
gives  for  something  of  the  kind  ? — 

'  Between  two  leaves  of  Petrarch 

There's  a  purple  rose-leaf  pressed, 
More  sVeet  than  common  roses, 
For  it  once  lay  on  her  breast.' 

The  fern  of  which  you  speak  never  had 
that  happiness,  but  still  it  was  your  gift, 
and,  as  such,  a  treasure  to  me." 

"Yonder  come  Florence  and  Mr. 
Glenn,"  said  Beatrix,  turning  abruptly 
away. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MRS.   LATHROP   FULFILLS  A  DUTY. 

THE  fate  of  the  missing  miniature  re- 
mained enveloped  in  mystery,  for  Oliver 
Reynolds,  who  alone  could  have  thrown 
a  partial  light  on  the  matter,  had  been 
frightened  into  holding  his  tongue. 

Before  Oliver  started  with  Tom  Whito 
on  the  day's  fishing,  Marchmont  had  seen 
him,  and  told  him  that  the  picture  was 
lost.  He  also  informed  him  that  he  had 
found  it  to  be  of  great  value,  and  that,  i£ 


76 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


he  did  not  wish  to  be  apprehended  as  a 
thief,  he  had  hetter  not  drop  the  least 
hint  of  having  seen  or  touched  it. 

"  No  one  can  possibly  suspect  you,  as 
matters  stand,"  Marchmont  said,  impres- 
sively ;  "  but  if  you  open  your  lips  on  the 
subject,  you  are  lost.  Don't  mention  it 
to  anybody,  and  /  shall  not  betray  you." 

After  mature  deliberation,  Oliver  de- 
cided on  this  course,  and  it  resulted  ad- 
mirably. Being  of  a  weak,  cowardly  na- 
ture, he  was  filled  with  consternation,  and, 
having  pledged  himself  to  silence,  faith- 
fully kept  his  pledge. 

If  his  conscience  troubled  him  at  all, 
no  one  observed  the  signs  thereof ;  but, 
in  truth,  no  one  had  either  the  time  or 
the  inclination  to  observe  Oliver. 

It  was  known  to  Amy  and  her  father, 
though  not  mentioned  to. the  younger  chil- 
dren, that  Felix  was  involved  in  the  sus- 
picion which  had  fallen  upon  Hugh.  This 
alone  was  trouble  enough ;  but  a  worse 
sorrow  was  in  store,  and  suddenly  burst 
on  Mr.  Eeynolds  without  warning. 

lie  was  at  the  Lathrop  house,  giving 
a  music-lesson  to  Eunice,  when,  just  be- 
fore the  hour  had  expired,  Mrs.  Lathrop 
entered  the  room  and  sent  her  daughter 
away.  *m  • 

"If  you  will  excuse  my  disturbing 
your  lesson,  Mr.  Reynolds,"  she  said,  "I 
should  like  to  speak  to  you  for  a  few 
minutes." 

When  Eunice  had  departed,  Mr.  Rey- 
nolds, who  was  peculiarly  intolerant  of 
parental  interference,  and  whose  temper 
gust  now  was  far  from  sunny,  buttoned 
his  coat,  took  his  roll  of  music,  and, 
without  sitting  down,  looked  at  the  lady 
in  a  very  aggressive  fashion.  Mrs.  La- 
throp was  not  to  be  daunted,  however, 
so  she  cleared  her  throat,  and  began : 

"  I  have  a  very  unpleasant  duty  to 
perform,  Mr.  Reynolds,"  she  said ;  "  but 
it  is  not  my  habit  to  shirk  a  duty,  how- 
ever unpleasant  it  may  be." 

Mr.  Reynolds  muttered  something  in- 
audible and  not  complimentary.  He  had 
no  doubt  this  majestic  beginning  prefaced 


fault-finding  with  Eunice's  progress,  and 
he  was  ready  to  resent  anything  of  the 
kind. 

"  I  have  always  entertained  a  very 
friendly  feeling  toward  you,"  Mrs.  La- 
throp proceeded,  with  stately  condescen- 
sion, "  and  I  am  truly  sorry  for  a  wid- 
ower with  children — especially  if  those 
children  are  girls.  A  man  is  so  incapable 
of  managing — one  might  almost  say,  of 
understanding — girls." 

At  this  point  Mr.  Reynolds  could  only 
stare — which  he  did  with  telling  effect 
from  under  his  shaggy  eyebrows.  It  oc- 
curred to  him  to  wonder  what  possible 
connection  there  was  between  his  wid- 
owed state  and  Eunice's  music;  but  he 
was  accustomed  to  Mrs.  Lathrop's  disser- 
tations, yet  felt  irritably  averse  to  listen 
to  one  just  now. 

"If  there  is  anything  in  your  daugh- 
ter's progress  you  don't  like — "  he  began, 
abruptly,  but  Mrs.  Lathrop  interrupted 
him  suavely. 

"  There  is  nothing,"  she  said — "  noth- 
ing whatever.  I  am  perfectly  satisfied 
with  her  advancement.  Ah !  my  dear  Mr. 
Reynolds,  it  is  not  my  daughter  of  whom 
I  wish  to  speak,  but  your  daughter." 

"  My  daughter !  "  repeated  Mr.  Rey- 
nolds. 

No  suspicion  of  the  truth  came  to 
him.  He  was  aware  that  Amy's  wonder- 
ful voice  began  to  be  talked  of,  and  he 
expected  some  advice  or  congratulation 
on  that  score. 

"Yes,  your  daughter,"  replied  Mrs. 
Lathrop,  impressively.  She  folded  her 
hands  in  her  lap,  and  her  cap-strings 
quivered  with  the  energy  of  her  interest. 
"I  am  very  sorry  to  shock  or  pain  you," 
she  went  on ;  "  but  I  feel  that  I  should 
neglect  a  duty,  if  I  did  not  warn  you  that 
this  imprudent  girl  is  being  talked  of  in  a 
way  that  will  do  her  very  serious  injury." 

"Madam!"  said  Mr.  Reynolds,  with 
lightning  darting  from  his  eyes,  "  I  do  not 
understand  you ! " 

"  I  am  told,"  said  Mrs.  Lathrop,  now 
embarked  on  her  subject,  "  that  my  neph- 


MRS.   LATHROP  FULFILLS   A  DUTY. 


77 


ew,  Brian  Marchmont,  is  in  the  habit  of 
seeing  your  daughter  every  day,  of  spend- 
ing hours  in  her  society,  and  of  taking 
long  walks  alone  with  her.  You  can 
judge  for  yourself  whether  such  conduct 
is  proper  in  a  girl  of  her  age  and  posi- 
tion. I  confess  that  I  was  shocked  when 
I  first  heard  the  gossip  which  has  arisen 
on  the  subject." 

"  Gossip — about  Amy!  "  said  Mr.  Rey- 
nolds, with  a  gasp. 

He  was  too  honestly  dismayed  to  be 
indignant.  There  was  something  pathetic 
in  the  anxious  look  that  came  to  his  worn 
face. 

"God  forgive  me!"  he  said,  half 
under  his  breath.  "  I  ought  to  have 
watched  over  her  more  carefully ;  I  ought 
to  have  remembered  that  she  has  no 
mother. — What  do  people  say  ?"  he  went 
on,  sharply,  turning  to  Mrs.  Lathrop. 
"  Let  me  hear  the  worst." 

"I  do  not  think  they  say  anything 
at  present  worse  than  the  truth — that 
Brian  is  amusing  himself  with  her,"  that 
lady  replied.  "  Girls'  hearts,  fortunate- 
ly, are  not  easily  broken ;  but  worse  may 
come  if  the  matter  is  not  stopped.  I  have 
spoken  to  Brian,  but,  of  course,  without 
effect.  It  rests  with  you  to  control  your 
daughter." 

Mr.  Eeynolds  muttered  something  in- 
coherent, seized  his  hat,  and,  before  Mrs. 
Lathrop  could  offer  any  further  advice, 
unceremoniously  left  the  room. 

Not  a  single  recollection  of  pupils  or 
appointments  occurred  to  him  as  he 
swiftly  walked  along  the  streets  toward 
his  own  house.  He  could  think  of  noth- 
ing but  the  news  which  had  been  told  ; 
he  could  do  nothing  but  execrate  his 
own  carelessness,  which  had  suffered  Amy 
to  become  the  subject  of  amusement  for 
a  man  like  Brian  Marchmont.  His  hand 
involuntarily  clinched  itself,  and  his 
brows  knit  closer  together. 

Two  of  his  pupils  who  met  him  shrank 
affrighted. 

"  How  angry  Mr.  Eeynolds  looks !  " 
they  whispered,  as  he  passed.  "Some- 


body must  have  been  doing  a  lesson  very 
badly." 

As  he  approached  his  house  he  heard 
the  pure,  silvery  tones  of  Amy's  voice, 
together  with  the  chords  of  the  piano ; 
and  when  he  entered  the  parlor  he  found 
Marchmont  playing  the  accompaniment, 
while  she  stood  by  him  singing  one  of 
the  songs  selected  for  the  Cedarwood 
fete. 

At  her  father's  unexpected  entrance 
she  stopped  abruptly — not  so  much  be- 
cause he  entered,  as  because  she  caught 
at  once  the  expression  of  his  face,  and  it 
made  her  heart  sink  instantly. 
•  Though  by  no  means  a  tyrant  in  his 
family,  all  the  members  of  it  knew  that 
Mr.  Reynolds  was  not  to  be  trifled  with ; 
and  when  his  wrath  was  roused,  they 
shrank  before  him  as  his  pupils  did. 

Amy  saw  the  signs  of  storm  very 
plainly,  so  her  voice  ceased  as  suddenly 
as  if  a  hand  had  been  laid  on  her  throat ; 
and  when  Marchmont  turned  in  surprise, 
he  also  beheld  the  fierce  countenance  of 
monsieur  le  pere. 

His  prophetic  soul  warned  him  of  a 
scene  at  once,  and  he  rose  quickly  from 
the  piano-stool ;  but  there  was  no  awk- 
ward consciousness  of  detection  and  guilt 
in  his  manner. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Reynolds,"  he 
said,  easily.  "I  hope  you  do  not  object 
to  an  amateur  substitute.  I  have  been 
playing  Miss  Amy's  accompaniment,  and 
venturing  to  offer  her  a  little  instruc- 
tion." 

"I  object  exceedingly  to  your  pres- 
ence, sir !  "  replied  Mr.  Reynolds,  sternly. 
"I  am  quite  able  to  give  my  daughter  all 
the  instruction  she  needs,  and  I  have  come 
to  tell  her  that  I  forbid  her  to  receive 
your  visits  or  hold  any  further  communi- 
cation with  you.  I  have  just  heard  of 
your  constant  presence  in  my  house,"  he 
went  on,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  with 
anger,  "  and  of  the  gossip  to  which  it  has 
given  rise.  You  must  have  known  this 
very  well,  and  yet  you  have  continued  to 
take  advantage  of  this  child's  youth  and 


78 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


ignorance.  You  are  no  gentleman,  and  I 
am  glad  to  find  you  here,  in  order  that  I 
may  tell  you  to  leave  the  house  and  never 
enter  it  again." 

"  Your  excitement  is  your  excuse  for 
this  insult,"  said  Marchmont,  calmly. 

Since  his  aunt's  threat  he  had  been 
prepared  for  something  of  this  kind,  so 
he  was  not  astonished,  much  less  discom- 
posed. 

He  extended  his  hand  for  his  hat, 
which  was  on  the  top  of  the  piano,  and 
walked  up  to  Amy,  who  looked  as  if  the 
entire  fabric  of  existence  was  tumbling 
about  her  ears. 

"I  am  sorry  that  my  presence  shouM 
have  caused  you  this  annoyance,"  he  said  ; 
"but  I  must  thank  you  for  the  many 
pleasant  hours  I  have  enjoyed  in  your  so- 
ciety. Good-by." 

She  could  not  utter  a  single  word,  but 
looked  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  such  pas- 
sionate appeal,  that  it  was  only  by  a 
strong  effort  he  maintained  his  compos- 
ure of  manner.  To  do  so  was  a  neces- 
sity, however,  with  the  gaze  of  Mr.  Eey- 
nolds  upon  him;  he  therefore  turned 
quickly,  and,  without  another  word, 
passed  from  the  house. 

As  the  ring  of  his  step  bounded  on  the 
sidewalk  below  the  window,  and  Amy 
realized  that  he  was  absolutely  gone,  a 
low  cry  broke  from  her  lips. 

"O  papa!  papa!  how  could  you?" 
she  said,  bursting  into  tears  of  grief  and 
rage. 

Mr.  Eeynolds  walked  across  the  room 
and  seized  her  arm — not  harshly,  but 
with  a  pressure  that  compelled  atten- 
tion and  checked  summarily  the  angry 
sobs. 

"Listen  to  me!"  he  said.  "I  am 
willing  to  overlook  a  good  deal  of  folly 
in  a  girl  of  your  age,  left  without  a 
mother  and  with  little  care ;  but  you  are 
old  enough  to  comprehend,  when  I  tell 
you  that  you  are  standing  on  the  brink 
of  disgrace.  If  you  meet  that  man  again, 
either  in  this  house  or  out  of  it,  you  will 
do  so  at  your  peril,  for  I  forbid  you  to 


see  or  speak  to  him.  Now,  go  to  your 
room,  and  do  not  leave  it  again  until  I 
send  for  you." 

Thoroughly  awed  by  his  tone  and 
manner,  Amy  obeyed.  Sobbing  under 
her  breath,  she  slowly  wended  her  way 
up-stairs  and  entered  her  chamber,  clos- 
ing the  door  behind  her.  Notwithstand- 
ing its  being  closed,  she  heard  her  father 
call  Clara  and  speak  to  her  in  an  ener- 
getic manner. 

"He's  telling  her  to  watch  me  like — 
like  a  dragon,  I  know ! "  Amy  said  to 
herself  as  she  lay  prone  on  the  bed  in 
utter  wretchedness. 

This  was  the  last  drop  in  her  full  cup 
of  anguish.  To  have  seen  Marchmont  or- 
dered from  the  house ;  to  be  forbidden 
to  meet  him ;  to  be  confined  to  her  room, 
and  to  have  Clara  placed  as  sentinel  over 
her — Amy  felt  that  human  misery  could 
go  no  further. 

In  truth,  the  girl  was  miserable  with 
that  intense  wretchedness  of  youth  which 
never  looks  beyond  the  moment.  She 
suffered,  as  she  enjoyed,  with  her  whole 
soul ;  and  just  now  her  suffering  was  of 
the  keenest  nature. 

It  was  not  without  its  ray  of  hope, 
for  she  had  a  comfortable  assurance  that 
Marchmont  would  find  some  way  to  set 
everything  right;  neither  was  she  in- 
different to  the  romantic  side  of  the  dis- 
tress; but  these  sources  of  consolation 
were  at  least  vague,  while  her  grievances 
were  real. 

Their  reality  increased  very  much  in 
the  course  of  the  next  few  days.  March- 
mont, who  felt  that  he  had  carried -his 
flirtation  as  far  as  was  prudent — for  him- 
self— accepted  the  situation,  and  left  Amy 
severely  and  sadly  alone.  It  cost  him 
something  to  do  this,  but  his  aunt's  warn- 
ing had  opened  his  eyes  to  the  danger  of 
his  position,  and  he  felt  that  he  dared  not 
trifle  further  with  the  serious  interests  at 
stake.  He  gave  a  sigh  to  the  piquant 
little  beauty,  who,  he  had  not  the  least 
doubt,  was  weeping  out  her  eyes  for  him ; 
but,  on  the  whole,  he  was  obliged  to  Mr. 


MRS.   LATHROP  FULFILLS  A  DUTY. 


79 


Keynolds  for  exiling  him  so  summarily 
from  his  paradise  of  roses,  and  giving 
him  so  good  an  excuse  for  absenting 
himself  altogether  from  the  shabby  little 
house  in  E Street. 

As  day  followed  day  without  any  word 
or  token  from  him,  the  world  for  Amy 
seemed  to  come  to  an  end.  She  had  no 
idea  how  completely  his  presence  filled 
her  life  until  he  had  vanished  from  it, 
leaving  so  terrible  a  blank  behind. 

She  pined  until  she  was  sick;  she 
wept  and  watched  until  she  was  almost 
blind ;  and  her  fate  was  like  that  of  Mari- 
ana in  the  moated  grange. 

"  He  must  have  forgotten  me !  "  she 
would  sob  to  herself.  "If  he  wanted  to 
see  me,  he  could  find  some  way  to  do 
so!  " 

Altogether  a  cloud  rested  over  the 
Eeynolds  household  during  these  days. 
Felix's  departure  for  Germany  was  de- 
layed, partly  on  account  of  Mr.  Trafford's 
temporary  absence  from  Edgerton,  and 
partly  because  of  the  suspicion  concerning 
the  miniature,  which  hung  over  him  as 
well  as  Hugh. 

This  mystery  remained  as  deep  as 
ever,  and  baffled  every  one  engaged  in 
its  elucidation.  Marchmont  alone  was 
easy  in  mind.  He  did  not  doubt  but 
that  he  had  dropped  the  picture  on  the 
street,  and  whoever  picked  it  up,  recog- 
nizing the  value  of  the  setting,  had  qui- 
etly retained  it.  The  fact  that  he  was 
accountable  for  its  disappearance  did  not 
trouble  him  at  all.  Whether  it  remained 
lost,  or  whether  it  were  found,  it  could 
not  be  traced  to  him — of  that  he  felt  sure, 
and  therefore  he  made  himself  thorough- 
ly easy. 

This  ease  was  not  emulated  by  the 
rightful  owners  of  the  picture.  General 
Waldron,  outraged  at  the  loss  of  such  a 
valuable  family  relic,  was  decidedly  of 
opinion  that  Hugh  should  be  threatened 
with  legal  prosecution  if  it  was  not  pro- 
duced; but  to  this  his  daughter  would 
not  agree. 

"  It  was  my  fault,  papa,"  she   said, 


"  and  I  cannot  consent  that  he  should  bear 
the  penalty.  I  may  have  been  wrong  to 
put  the  miniature  in  his  hands,  but  I  do 
not — I  cannot — believe  that  he  has  taken 
it." 

Her  unsupported  opinion  might  not 
have  had  much  weight  with  her  father, 
but  Archer  strongly  indorsed  it. 

"That  boy  has  no  more  taken  the 
picture  than  I  have,"  he  said.  "One  has 
only  to  look  at  him  to  see  that  he  has 
wasted  away  to  a  shadow  through  sheer 
anxiety  since  its  loss." 

"Somebody  must  have  taken  it,"  said 
General  Waldron,  positively.' 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  that,"  Archer 
quietly  replied.  "  Somebody  certainly 
must  have  taken  it." 

He  did  not  say  so  to  any  one  save 
Beatrix,  but  his  own  impression  was  that 
Felix  Keynolds  had  taken  it.  He  con- 
fessed, however,  that  there  was  very  little 
"  showing  of  a  case  "  against  him,  and 
that  to  have  him  arrested  on  a  charge  of 
theft  would  be  an  extreme  step  not  war- 
ranted by  the  evidence. 

Around  Hugh  troubles  thickened  at 
this  time.  To  the  Lathrops  the  fact  of 
his  guilt  seemed  so  clear  that  Mr.  Lathrop 
dismissed  him  from  his  employ. 

Worse  even  than  this,  Mr.  Reynolds 
resented  so  bitterly  the  shadow  which 
had  partly  fallen  on  Felix,  that  Hugh 
found  himself  unwelcome  in  the  house 
which  always  before  had  been  like  home 
to  him. 

That  the  poor  boy  grew  wan  and 
hollow-eyed  under  the  burden  of  these 
accumulated  misfortunes  was  not  remark- 
able, and  Mrs.  Sargent  expressed  her  firm 
belief  that  he  would  die  before  long  if 
matters  did  not  mend. 

"He  doesn't  eat,  he  doesn't  sleep,  ho 
does  nothing  but  pine  and  mope,"  she 
said.  "  There's  a  deal  of  sickness  in  Edg- 
erton now,  and  he's  just  in  the  state  to  go 
off  sudden  like." 

While  affairs  were  in  this  unsatisfac- 
tory state,  many  preparations  for  the 
long-talkecUof  Cedarwood  fete  were  in 


80 


AFTER  MANY  DATS. 


progress.  General  "Waldron,  who  took 
more  interest  in  the  matter  than  bis 
daughter,  personally  superintended  all 
the  arrangements.  The  grounds  were  to 
be  illuminated ;  the  large  drawing-room, 
which  was  to  serve  first  as  a  concert- 
room  and  then  as  a  hallroom,  was  beau- 
tifully decorated,  and  it  was  generally 
understood  in  Edgerton  that  "  no  expense 
was  to  be  spared  "  to  make  the  entertain- 
ment a  brilliant  success. 

As  time  went  on,  Amy  looked  forward 
to  this  occasion  with  almost  feverish  anx- 
iety, realizing  as  she  did  that  it  was  her 
only  chance  of  seeing  Marchmont. 

Since  the  morning  when  her  father 
had  ordered  him  to  leave  the  house  she 
had  not  exchanged  a  word  with  him,  and 
she  was  not  so  much  a  child  but  that  she 
felt  keenly  that  this  was  his  fault. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  she  was 
tasting  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowl- 
edge, and  finding  it  very  bitter.  She 
was  wounded  not  only  in  her  heart,  but 
in  her  pride,  by  his  utter  neglect. 

"  A  word  from  him  would  make  every- 
thing right,"  she  thought,  "and  he  will 
not  speak  it." 

The  inference  to  be  drawn  from  this 
was  plain  even  to  her,  aad  what  with 
tearful  days  and  sleepless  nights,  signs  of 
suffering  began  to  appear  on  the  fair 
young  face,  which  had  never  marred  its 
Hebe  joyousness  before. 

As  Mrs.  Sargent  shook  her  head  over 
Hugh,  so  Clara  shook  Tier  head  over  Amy. 

"Things  are  pretty  bad  with  Miss 
Amy,  when  she  don't  care  nothing  'bout 
her  dress  for  that  big  party  she's  goin' 
to ! "  this  close  observer  said  to  Felix. 
"I've  fluted  it  beautiful,  but  she  hasn't 
even  looked  at  it." 

This,  if  Clara  had  known  it,  was  sig- 
nificant not  only  of  Amy's  grief  but  of 
Amy's  age.  Older  women  may  be  heart- 
broken, but  they  do  not  neglect  their 
toilets. 

Sixteen — foolish  in  this  as  in  every- 
thing else — throws  all  thought  of  adorn- 
ment to  the  winds,  and  feels,  like  Thekla — 


"  I  have  lived  and  loved,  but  that  was  to-day ; 
Make  ready  my  grave-clothes  to-morrow." 

On  the  day  of  the  fete  Amy  was  seat- 
ed in  the  garden,  engaged  in  fringing  a 
rose-colored  sash  that  looked  as  little  as 
possible  like  grave-clothes. 

She  was  silent,  for  of  late  she  never 
sang  except  when  she  practised,  but,  be- 
ing plunged  in  thought,  she  heard  no 
sound  of  approaching  steps,  nor  was  con- 
scious of  any  presence  near,  until  a  fa- 
miliar voice  said : 

"  Good-morning,  my  dear.  I  am  glad 
to  see  you  again." 

She  glanced  up  with  a  start,  and  saw 
Mr.  Trafford  standing  before  her,  with  a 
look  of  unmistakable  pleasure  on  his  face 
as  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  hope  you  have  missed  me  a  little," 
he  said,  with  a  smile,  after  she  had  ut- 
tered the  usual  commonplace  greetings. 
"I  have  been  gone — let  me  see — eight 
days,  I  believe.  What  have  you  been  do- 
ing with  yourself  during  all  that  time  ? " 

"Nothing  —  in  particular,"  she  fal- 
tered, remembering  with  how  much  of 
sadness  those  eight  days  had  been  fraught. 

Mr.  Trafford's  keen  glance  rested  on 
her  face,  and  noted  every  line  of  the 
change  there.  "  I  am  afraid  it  has  been 
something  very  much  in  particular,"  he 
said.  "  Have  you  been  unwell  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  she  answered,  im- 
patiently. "  I  am  always  well." 

u  Have  you  been  unhappy,  then  ? " 

"Why  do  you  ask  me  such  a  ques- 
tion?" she  demanded,  flushing.  "Do  I 
look  wretched  ?  I  am  sorry  if  I  do,  for 
I  suppose  I  have  no  more  cause  to  be  so 
than  many  other  people." 

"  Eight  days  ago  you  had,  so  far  as  I 
knew,  no  cause  to  be  so,"  said  Mr.  Traf- 
ford,  gravely.  "  What  has  wrought  such 
a  change?  Come,  my  dear  girl — I  am 
your  sincere  friend,  and  I  do  not  ask 
from  idle  curiosity — tell  me  ?  " 

Poor  Amy  hesitated,  and  the  great 
tears  welled  up  into  her  eyes.  "I — I 
would  not  mind  telling  you  if  there  were 
any  good  in  it,"  she  said ;  "  but  there 


A  TRIUMPHANT  DEBUT. 


81 


isn't.  You  couldn't  help  me — not  at  all. 
We  have  been  very  much  worried  about 
Felix,"  she  went  on,  eagerly,  anxious  to 
lead  her  companion's  attention  away  from 
her  own  trouble.  "  It  seems  too  infamous 
that  suspicion  should  fall  on  him  about 
that  miniature." 

"  On  Felix !  "  said  Mr.  Trafford,  look- 
ing amazed.  "What  are  you  talking 
about?" 

"  I  forgot  that  it  happened  after  you 
went  away,"  she  said,  "  so  I  suppose  you 
have  not  heard  of  it." 

Then  she  told  him  the  story  of  the 
disappearance  of  the  miniature,  and  Fe- 
lix's connection  therewith. 

He  listened  attentively,  and  seemed 
struck  by  the  fact  that,  up  to  the  present 
time,  no  clew  had  been  discovered.  "  Are 
you  quite  sure  they  have  not  found  out 
anything?  "  he  asked,  more  than  once. 

"  I  am  perfectly  sure,"  Amy  answered. 
"  That  odious  Mr.  Archer  has  been  to  see 
Felix,  and  insinuated  some  things,  for 
which,  if  I  were  a  man,"  she  cried,  with 
flashing  eyes,  "  I  would  shoot  him !  " 

"  And  how  does  Felix  take  it?  "  asked 
Mr.  Trafford. 

"Felix  is  dreadfully  distressed,"  she 
replied,  "  and  he  will  not  hear  of  going 
away — much  as  he  wishes  to  start  for 
Germany — until  the  thing  is  cleared  up. 
I  am  afraid  he  will  be  ill  from  excite- 
ment and  worry." 

"  His  mind  must  be  relieved  at  once," 
said  Mr.  Trafford.  "If  I  had  suspected 
this,  I  would  have  come  back  sooner." 

Amy  opened  her  eyes. 

"  You  talk  as  if  you  had  the  minia- 
ture in  your  pocket,"  she  said.  "  I  don't 
think  anything  will  relieve  Felix's  mind 
except  some  certainty  about  it." 

"  Then  we  must  obtain  the  certainty," 
said  Mr.  Trafford,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
to  whom  everything  was  possible.  "  How 
about  poor  Dinsmore  ?  The  affair  must 
fall  heavily  on  him." 

"No  doubt  it  does,"  responded  Amy, 
indifferently.  "I  have  not  thought  of 
him  much,  and  papa  does  not  like  to  hear 
6 


his  name  mentioned.  The  picture  was  in 
his  possession,  and  his  carelessness  was 
the  cause  of  its  loss.  Of  course,  there- 
fore, he  must  expect  to  be  held  account- 
able; but  Felix— " 

"Yes,  it  is  hard,"  said  Mr.  Trafford, 
absently.  Presently,  with  a  change  of 
subject  so  abrupt  that  it  fairly  startled 
her,  he  said :  "  Oliver  and  Ernest  are  at 
school — are  they  not  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered;  "they  are  al- 
ways at  school  this  time  of  day.  Why  do 
you  ask  ? " — for  Oliver  and  Ernest  were 
by  no  means  favorites  of  this  eccentric 
gentleman. 

"  I  want  to  see  one  of  them,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Send  Oliver  over  to  me  when 
he  comes  home.  Do  you  know  where  1 
am  likely  to  find  Hugh  Dinsmore  ? " 

"At  his  boarding-house,  I  suppose," 
Amy  answered,  more  and  more  surprised. 
"He  is  not  likely  to  be  anywhere  else, 
for  I  have  heard  that  Mr.  Lathrop  has 
discharged  him. 

"Humph!  "  said  Mr.  Trafford,  with  a 
significance  which  she  only  partly  under- 
stood. He  drew  his  brows  together,  and 
muttered  one  or  two  forcible  words  un- 
der his  mustache ;  then  he  held  out  his 
hand  again.  "Keep  up  your  heart,  my 
dear,"  he  said,  "  and  don't  sadden  your 
pretty  face  for  the  sake  of  a  man  who  is 
a  contemptible  sneak.  Good-morning ! " 


CHAPTER  XV. 


A   TRIUMPHANT 

IT  was  impossible  for  Amy  not  to  feel 
as  if  some  great  delight  was  in  store  for 
her,  when  she  put  the  last  touches  to  her 
toilet  on  the  evening  of  iheftte  to  which 
she  had  so  long  and  so  earnestly  looked 
forward.  Her  dress  was  of  simple  white 
muslin,  and  flowers  were  her  only  orna- 
ments; but  the  freshness  of  her  beauty 
needed  no  further  adornment,  and  even 
the  dim  little  glass  into  which  she  gazed 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


gave  back  a  reflection  that  might  have 
satisfied  the  most  exacting  woman. 

The  girl  looked  at  it  with  passionate 
eagerness.  "Was  she  beautiful?  "Would 
he  think  her  so  ?  These  were  the  ques- 
tions she  was  asking  herself,  while  excite- 
ment filled  her  veins  like  electricity.  She 
v/as  fairly  quivering  with  it  as  her  slen- 
der fingers  placed  the  rose-red  roses  in 
her  hair.  Ever  afterward  the  fragrance 
of  these  particular  roses  was  hateful  to 
her — ever  afterward  it  brought  back  that 
evening  when  she  stood  hoping,  long- 
ing, fearing,  while  crowning  herself  with 
them. 

The  last  touch  had  been  given,  the  last 
flower  placed  in  position,  and  she  was 
gazing  at  herself,  wishing  her  father  was 
ready  to  go,  when  she  heard  the  sound  of 
quick  steps  in  the  hall  below,  and  the 
eager  tones  of  an  excited  voice. 

"  Who  can  that  be  ?  "  she  said.  "  Ma- 
riette,  run  down  and  see !  " 

Mariette,  who  had  been  serving  as  a 
willing  candle-holder,  ran  at  once,  and  in 
a  minute  came  flying  back.  "  It's  Hugh," 
she  cried ;  "  and  he  says  the  picture's 
found!" 

"Found!— where?"  asked  Amy,  in 
amazement. 

But  Mariette  had  not  waited  for  any 
details ;  she  only  knew  that  Hugh  was  in 
the  parlor  with  Felix,  and  that  he  said  the 
picture  was  found. 

Full  of  eagerness,  Amy  ran  down- 
stairs. She  had  no  desire  to  see  Hugh, 
but  the  suspense  of  ungratified  curiosity 
was  something  which,  in  her  present 
mood,  she  was  altogether  unable  to  en- 
dure. "When  she  entered  the  dusky  par- 
lor— for  it  was  only  lighted  by  a  single 
candle  on  the  high  mantel-piece — Hugh, 
who  was  talking  to  Felix,  stared  at  the 
white-robed,  festive  figure  as  if  it  were  a 
vision. 

""What  is  this  about  the  picture?" 
Amy  cried,  before  he  could  speak.  "  Who 
found  it  ? — where  was  it  found  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  secret  just  now,"  Hugh 
answered;  "I  am  bound  by  a  promise 


not  to  tell  anything  about  it  to-night. 
But  I  felt  that  I  must  come  and  let  Felix 
know  that  it  is  safe  in  Miss  Waldron's 
hands,  and  that  both  he  and  I  are  free 
from  blame." 

"  But  how  did  it  get  into  Miss  Wal- 
dron's hands?"  asked  Amy,  impatiently. 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  "  said  Felix, 
who  was  seated  as  usual  on  the  piano- 
stool.  "  It  is  found — that  is  enough — 
and  I  shall  start  for  Germany  to-morrow." 

"  And  I  shall  go  with  yon ! "  said 
Hugh,  with  his  eyes  shining  like  stars. 
"  That  is  glorious  news,  isn't  it  ?  Gener- 
al Waldron  has  offered  to  send  me  abroad 
to  study  art." 

"O  Hugh!"  exclaimed  Amy,  clasp- 
ing her  hands.  "  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  in  earnest,"  answered 
Hugh.  "  It  seems  like  a  dream,  but  it  is 
a  fact.  Are  you  glad,  Amy?  "  he  asked, 
a  little  wistfully. 

"I  am  glad  for  yon,"  Amy  answered. 
"  But,"  she  added,  with  a  sudden  remem- 
brance of  all  that  he  had  been  to  her  as 
a  constant  companion,  a  loyal  champion, 
and  a  devoted  subject,  "  I  am  sorry  for 
myself." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  being  sorry,  when 
you'll  go  away  yourself  before  long  to 
learn  how  to  sing? "  demanded  Felix. 
"  When  you  are  a  great  singer,  and  Hugh's 
a  great  painter,  and  I'm  a  great  musician, 
how  glorious  it  will  be  I  " 

"  Tremendously  glorious !  "  exclaimed 
Hugh ;  "  but  just  now  I  had  rather  hear 
that  Amy  is  sorry,  than  to  anticipate  that 
splendid  time." 

"But  it  will  be  splendid !  "  said  Felix, 
on  whose  pale,  thin  cheeks  a  feverish  flush 
was  glowing.  "Some  day  Amy  and  I 
will  give  concerts  together.  Amy,  come 
here  and  sing  your  songs  for  Hugh." 

He  turned  quickly  to  the  keyboard, 
and  struck  the  chords  of  accompaniment 
as  he  spoke,  while  Amy,  not  at  all  unwill- 
ing, advanced  to  his  side. 

As  she  poured  forth,  in  her  pure,  fresh 
voice,  the  songs  she  was  to  sing  at  Cedar- 
wood  a  few  hours  hence,  and  Felix's  flex- 


A   TRIUMPHANT   D^BUT. 


83 


ile  fingers  swept  the  keys,  Hugh  took  in 
the  scene  with  a  sort  of  lingering  inten- 
sity, feeling  that  it  would  long  dwell  in 
his  memory.  The  piano,  littered  with 
sheet-music,  the  dim,  shadowy  room,  the 
fragile,  slender  hoy-musician,  and  the 
beautiful  young  songstress  who  stood  hy 
his  side — the  picture,  in  all  its  details, 
struck  his  artistic  fancy,  while,  with  a 
pang,  he  felt  that  he  was  standing  on  the 
threshold  of  a  change  that  would  make 
this  shabby  old  parlor,  and  all  that  it  con- 
tained, part  of  an  irrevocable  past. 

"  I  suppose  you  feel  that  you  are  on 
the  eve  of  your  first  triumph,  Amy,"  he 
said,  when  the  songs  were  ended,  and  he 
had  expressed  his  admiration — very  sin- 
cere admiration,  though  tinctured  with 
sadness. 

"  I  hope  so,"  answered  Amy;  "but  I 
feel  a  little  nervous.  When  I  am  on  the 
eve  of  a  real  triumph,  I  may  remember 
this,  and  think  how  absurd  it  was  to  be 
excited  by  a  private  concert." 

"Little  things  seem  great  to  begin- 
ners," said  Hugh.  "  And  is  Felix  to  play 
your  accompaniments  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  that  is  nothing — I  mean,  he 
would  not  go  only  for  that.  He  is  to  play 
a  sonata  of  Mozart's,  which  nobody  will 
understand." 

"  I  will  make  them  understand  it," 
said  Felix.  "Listen,  Hugh!  " 

Then  he  began  to  play  ;  but  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  the  great  waves  of  harmony 
rolled  past  Hugh  without  obtaining  due 
appreciation,  for  Amy  crossed  the  room 
to  his  side,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Tell  me,  Hugh,"  she  whispered, 
coaxingly,  "where  was  the  miniature 
found?" 

"  I  can't  tell,"  answered  Hugh,  smil- 
ing. "  You  must  wait  a  little  while. 
Perhaps  " — and  here  his  voice  grew  more 
grave — "you  will  not  be  pleased  when 
you  hear  everything  connected  with  it." 

"  Why  should  I  not  be  pleased  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  What  have  I  to  do  with  it  ? " 

"  You  ? — nothing.  But  don't  question 
me,  for  I  do  not  want  to  tell  you  anything. 


Amy  " — a  pause — "  do  you  think  you  will 
remember  me  after  I  am  gone  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  shall  remember  you !  " 
replied  Amy,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 
"  How  could  I  possibly  forget  you,  when 
we  have  been  such  good  comrades  for  so 
long?"  she  asked,  with  a  smile  brimful 
of  beguiling  coquetry. 

Hugh  expressed  his  feelings  by  some- 
thing closely  resembling  a  groan. 

"  It  hasn't  been  much  comradeship 
with  me,"  he  said.  "  You  know  I  love 
you  better  than  my  life,  Amy;  and  if 
you  would  give  a  little  hope  before  I  go 
away — if  you  would  only  say  that  some 
day  you  may  think  well  enough  of  me  to 
marry  me — " 

"  That  is  nonsense,  Hugh  !  "  inter- 
rupted Amy,  with  asperity.  "  A  boy  like 
you  talking  of  marrying !  I  never  heard 
anything  so  absurd.  I  have  told  you  be- 
fore that  I  like  you  as  a  friend  " — very 
decidedly — "  but  I  shall  never  like  you  in 
any  other  way — never !  " 

"  You  can't  be  sure  of  that — you  are 
too  young,"  said  Hugh,  making  a  despair- 
ing appeal  against  this  crushing  decision. 

"  I  am  just  as  sure  as  if  I  were  fifty," 
answered  Amy,  positively.  "  I  am  fond 
of  you  in  a  certain  way,  but  it  is  not  that 
way." 

She  shuddered  as  she  spoke,  for  some- 
thing almost  like  repugnance  came  over 
her  as  she  compared  the  figure  before  her 
with  the  lover  for  whom  her  heart  was 
sick. 

Youth  is  very  cruel,  especially  when 
it  suffers  ;  therefore  she  felt  none  of  the 
compassion  which  an  older  woman  might 
have  entertained  for  the  boy  whose  hopes 
she  was  ruthlessly  treading  under  foot, 
and  who,  during  many  years,  had  garnered 
all  his  store  of  affection  in  her. 

After  her  last  words  he  was  silent  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  it  chanced  that  just 
then  Felix  was  playing  an  exquisite  pia- 
nissimo passage,  "  Soft  as  the  memory  of 
buried  love,"  and  sad  as  its  lament.  Hugh 
hardly  heard  it,  yet  it  entered  into  his 
thoughts  and  seemed  like  a  requiem  to 


84 


AFTER   MAXY  DAYS. 


him.     When  he  spoke,  it  was  to  say, 
slowly  : 

"  If  you  are  so  certain,  I  won't  trouble 
you  any  more.  I  never  thought  you  could 
like  me  very  much  now,  but  I  thought, 
perhaps,  you  could  give  a  sort  of  promise 
when  I  went  away,  and,  in  case  I  accom- 
plish all  I  hope  to  do,  I  could  claim  it. 
should  work  harder  for  fame  if  I  saw  you 
at  the  end ;  but  there  is  no  good  in  talk- 
ing if  it  is  not  to  be.  I  am  only  sorry, 
oh,  very  sorry,  that  you  are  throwing 
away  what  is  true  for  what  is  false. 
Somehow  I  have  an  instinct,  Amy,  that 
when  you  make  your  choice  now  you  will 
make  it  for  good." 

"  I  hope  I  shall !  "  said  Amy,  with  an 
indignant  quiver  in  her  voice. 

Just  here,  Mr.  Keynolds  was  heard  on 
the  staircase  saying : 

"  Amy,  are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  Yes,  papa,  as  soon  as  I  get  my  cloak 
and  gloves,"  answered  Amy,  darting 
away. 

"  Felix,  my  boy,  are  you  sure  you  feel 
well  enough  to  go?  "  the  musician  asked, 
entering  the  room.  Then,  to  his  surprise, 
he  saw  Hugh,  and  stopped  with  an  abrupt 
"Humph!" 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Eeynolds,"  the 
latter  said,  a  little  coldly,  for  he  felt  keen- 
ly the  injustice  to  which  he  had  been  sub- 
jected. "  I  have  only  come  to  tell  Felix 
that  the  miniature  which  was  so  mysteri- 
ously lost  has  been  found." 

"  What !— found !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Rey- 
nolds, quickly.  "  "Where  ? — by  whom  ? " 

"I  am  not  allowed  to  tell  that  to- 
night. Mr.  Trafford  will  explain  the 
whole  affair  to  you  to-morrow." 

"Mr.  Trafford!  What  has  Mr.  Traf- 
ford to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  He  will  answer  that  Limself,"  replied 
Hugh,  quietly. 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  said  good-even- 
ing, and  went  away. 

"Papa,  may  I  start  to-morrow?" 
asked  Felix,  pleadingly.  "Mr.  Trafford 
has  corns,  and  the  picture  is  found.  There 
is  nothing  now  to  keep  me." 


"  Only  that  you  are  to  unwell  to  trav- 
el," said  Mr.  Eeynolds,  gravely.  "Let 
me  feel  your  pulse.  My  boy,  you  have  a 
fever  now.  Is  it  merely  from  excitement, 
or  are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  Only  excitement,  I  suppose,"  Felix 
answered,  eagerly.  "Don't  make  me 
stay  at  home,  papa !  I  want  to  go." 

When  Felix  said  "I  want  to"  do  a 
thing,  the  matter  was  settled  with  Mr. 
Keynolds. 

Though  cold,  and  often  severe,  to  his 
other  children,  he  idolized  this  boy,  and 
indulged  him  beyond  the  ordinary  meas- 
ure of  parental  indulgence.  The  fact  was 
easily  accounted  for  on  the  score  of  his 
delicate  health,  and  gentle,  rarely-gifted 
nature.  He  had  never  been  like  other 
boys,  and  his  father  had  always  felt  that 
an  organization  so  sensitively  balanced 
demanded  the  most  tender  care,  and 
might  at  any  time  slip  away  out  of  the 
region  of  material  things  into  those  purely 
spiritual. 

The  grounds  and  windows  of  Cedar- 
wood  were  blazing  with  a  multitude  of 
lights,  and  the  company  were  arriving  in 
constant  detachments,  when  Mr.  Eeynolds 
and  his  children  drove  up  to  the  door — 
Mrs.  Crenshaw  having  kindly  lent  them 
an  old-fashioned  one-horse  "rockaway," 
in  which  she  occasionally  made  short 
journeys  at  a  funeral  pace. 

Amy,  who  had  often  laughed  at  this 
sober  conveyance,  might  at  another  time 
have  felt  aggrieved  at  the  necessity  of 
using  it ;  but  now  she  was  too  preoccupied, 
too  eagerly  anxious  to  reach  Cedarwood, 
to  care  by  what  means  she  was  conveyed 
there. 

When  she  first  caught  sight  of  the 
house — which  looked  like  a  fairy-palace 
gleaming  against  the  steel-blue  sky — she 
uttered  a  cry  of  delight.  Surely  Happi- 
ness must  dwell  in  such  scenes  as  those ! 
At  this  moment  a  Chrysostom  could  not 
have  persuaded  her  to  the  contrary. 

As  they  entered  the  house  and  passed 
along  the  hall,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  a 


A   TRIUMPHANT   DEBUT. 


85 


crimson-carpeted  stage,  framed  in  a  flow- 
ery arch  at  the  farther  end  of  the  large 
drawing-room.  The  beauty  of  the  dec- 
oration on  all  sides  fairly  dazzled  her, 
utterly  unaccustomed  as  she  was  to  such 
scenes. 

Many  debutantes  in  her  position  would 
have  been  awed,  but  Amy  was  only  ex- 
cited. The  love  of  the  world,  the  pas- 
sionate desire  for  the  things  of  the  world, 
which  had  been  always  inherent  in  her, 
seemed  to  gain  fresh  vigor  at  this  first 
contact  with  the  object  of  her  dreams. 

"Some  day  I  shall  be  rich,  too!  "  she 
whispered  to  Felix. 

And  he  answered : 

"  You  will  be  a  great  artist — that  will 
be  better." 

Amy  did  not  reply,  but,  if  she  had 
done  so,  it  would  not  have  been  to  agree 
with  him.  Perhaps  there  was  not  the 
material  qf  the  real  artist  in  her — at  least 
it  is  certain  that  now,  as  ever,  she  thought 
more  of  the  rewards  of  art  than  of  its 
exercise. 

If  she  had  been  satisfied  with  her  ap- 
pearance when  it  was  reflected  by  the 
dim  little  mirror  in  her  own  chamber, 
she  was  more  than  satisfied  —  she  was 
delighted — when  she  saw  herself  in  the 
great  cheval-glass  of  the  dressing-room 
into  which  she  was  shown. 

"  I  am  lovely ! "  she  thought,  with  a 
thrill  of  pride.  "  No  one  here  to-night 
will  be  lovelier,  and  surely  he  will  think 
so." 

Of  the  "he"  who  filled  so  large  a 
place  in  her  thoughts  she  saw  nothing  in 
the  interval  of  time  which  elapsed  before 
the  entertainment  began. 

At  the  end  of  the  drawing-room  a 
smaller  apartment  served  as  a  green-room 
for  the  performers,  and  here  she  was  con- 
ducted. It  was  filled  by  the  gay  young 
ladies  and  gentlemen  of  "The  Cecilia," 
all  of  whom  knew  her  slightly,  and  spoke 
with  the  sort  of  good-humored  condescen- 
sion to  which  she  was  accustomed,  and 
which  she  always  resented.  To-night, 
however,  she  felt  it  less  than  usual,  her 


mind  being  occupied  with  other  consid- 
erations. 

She  paid  little  attention  to  the  concert 
until  it  was  her  turn  to  appear.  But  when 
Felix  and  herself  were  summoned  to  the 
crimson-covered  stage  lined  with  flowers, 
where  a  grand  piano  stood,  she  felt  for 
the  first  time  as  if  her  heart  rose  into  her 
throat.  It  was  purely  the  effect  of  ner- 
vous excitement,  and  vanished  when  she 
found  herself  before  the  audience.  A 
sense  of  power  came  to  her  then,  and  she 
stood  by  the  instrument  perfectly  com- 
posed and  graceful,  while  Felix  played  a 
short  prelude.  There  was  a  stir  of  inter- 
est among  the  company  below — a  general 
lifting  of  eye-glasses. 

"  What  a  lovely  girl !  Who  is  she  ? " 
many  asked.  "  Is  it  possible  that  is  Amy 
Reynolds?"  said  others.  "By  Jove! 
she's  a  regular  beauty !  "  the  younger  men 
remarked. 

But  these  comments  ceased  when  she 
began  to  sing,  and  her  voice  rose  so  pure, 
so  fresh,  so  powerful  in  its  untried  sweet- 
ness, that  even  those  who  knew  least  of 
music  were  amazed  and  enthralled.  Such 
singing  had  seldom,  if  ever  before,  been 
heard  in  Edgerton,  for  Amy,  as  she  had 
said  of  herself  on  the  day  when  March- 
mont  heard  her  first,  was  "inspired." 
Even  her  father  was  astonished  by  the 
silvery  clearness,  the  liquid  richness,  of 
her  notes. 

"It  is  marvelous — marvelous!"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  There  is  a  fortune  in 
her  voice." 

She  was  applauded  rapturously,  and 
as  she  was  turning  to  leave  the  stage, 
flushed  and  trembling  with  the  delightful 
certainty  of  triumph — for  she  could  hear 
the  exclamations  of  admiration  passing 
from  lip  to  lip  among  the  audience — a 
bouquet  suddenly  fell  at  her  feet.  As 
Felix  stooped  for  it,  she  sent  one  swift 
glance  in  the  direction  whence  it  came, 
and  met  Marchmont's  eyes. 

The  gaze  lasted  only  an  instant,  but 
in  that  instant  she  read  enough  to  set  her 
heart  beating.  What  telegraph  is  there 


86 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


like  the  human  glance  ?  What  assurances 
can  be  given  of  love  or  hate,  what  pas- 
sionate protestations  silently  made  in  less 
than  a  heart-beat  of  time!  So  it  was 
now,  as,  grasping  her  flowers  nervously, 
she  hurried  away,  thinking  joyously,  "He 
is  true ! — he  is  true !  He  loves  me  yet !  " 

The  members  of  "  The  Cecilia  "  crowd- 
ed round  her,  and  overwhelmed  her  with 
congratulations. 

"What  a  beautiful,  beautiful  voice 
you  have  1 "  one  after  another  cried. 
"  Why  did  you  never  let  us  hear  it  before  ? 
You  sang  divinely !  You  will  be  a  great 
prima-donna  some  day !  " 

"  I  am  positively  ashamed  to  sing  after 
you !  "  said  the  star  soprano. 

Compliments  were  very  pleasant  to 
Amy,  but  her  bouquet  was  best  of  all. 
She  retired  to  a  corner  and  buried  her 
face  in  its  sweetness  while  the  concert 
went  on.  Every  flower  seemed  to  say 
that  before  the  evening  was  over  the  hap- 
piness for  which  she  longed  would  be 
hers. 

Felix's  sonata  was  a  great  success,  for 
though  there  were  only  a  few  persons  in 
the  audience  capable  of  appreciating  the 
wonderful  technique  and  masterly  com- 
mand of  the  instrument  which  the  boy- 
musician  possessed,  these  led  the  applause 
in  which  the  others  willingly  joined. 

Amy's  second  song  was  even  more 
warmly  received  than  the  first.  It 
was  a  sparkling  operatic  melody,  which 
showed  not  only  her  voice,  but  her  dra- 
matic ability  to  great  advantage.  She 
was  encored  so  persistently  that  Mr. 
Reynolds  consented  to  her  returning,  so 
Felix  led  her  back,  and  she  sang  "  Within 
a  Mile  of  Edinboro'  Town  "  with  charm- 
ing piquancy. 

"  What  a  trump-card  you  have  found, 
Beatrix ! "  cried  a  vivacious  young  lady 
rushing  across  the  room  to  where  Miss 
Waldron  sat.  "Who  could  have  im- 
agined that  little  Amy  Reynolds,  whom 
we  have  seen  grow  up  before  our  eyes, 
would  prove  such  a  marvel  ?  I  vow  she 
sings  as  well  as  Nillson !  " 


"  She  will  sing  as  well  as  Nillson  some 
day,  I  have  no  doubt,"  replied  Miss  Wal- 
dron. "  She  has  a  wonderful  voice." 

"  And  how  did  you  find  her  out  ?  Did 
Mr.  Reynolds  tell  you  about  her  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  Beatrix;  "I  am  in- 
debted to  Mr.  Marchmont  for  a  knowl- 
edge of  her  ability,  and,  therefore,  you 
are  indebted  to  him  for  the  pleasure  you 
have  enjoyed — since  I  had  great  trouble 
in  persuading  Mr.  Reynolds  to  let  her  ap- 
pear." 

"Indeed !  "  said  the  young  lady,  turn- 
ing to  Marchmont,  who,  looking  thor- 
oughly at  ease  with  himself  and  the 
world  in  general,  was  sitting  by  the  young 
heiress's  side. — "And  pray,  Mr.  March- 
mont, if  I  maybe  allowed  to  ask,  how  did 
you  find  her  out?  " 

"  I  have  a  divining-rod  for  discovering 
hidden  genius,"  replied  Marchmont,  calm- 
ly. "  She  will  do  my  intuition  credit,  I 
think.  What  is  this  we  are  to  have  now  ? 
— a  glee?  It  closes  the  concert,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  Yes,  it  closes  the  concert,"  said  Miss 
Waldron.  "You  can  fill  up  your  ball- 
book  as  fast  as  you  please,  Emma." 

"It  is  very  nearly  filled,"  said  Emma. 
"  Only  one  or  two  dances  are  yet  un- 
claimed." 

She  looked  at  Marchmont  as  she 
spoke,  but  he  did  not  offer  to  claim  one, 
and,  since  the  glee  began,  she  was  obliged 
to  return  to  her  seat.  Then  he  turned  to 
Miss  Waldron  and  said : 

"I  hope  you  will  give  me  the  first 
dance,  and  any  other  you  can  spare." 

"I  hardly  think  I  shall  dance  more 
than  once  or  twice,"  she  answered,  care- 
lessly ;  "  and  it  has  been  a  matter  of  tra- 
dition, ever  since  I  was  eighteen,  that  I 
should  open  my  birth-night  ball  with  one 
of  our  old  friends.  I  have  not  decided 
who  it  shall  be,  but  you  know  you  do  not 
belong  to  that  class." 

"Unfortunately,  no;  but  the  oldest 
friends  are  not  always  the  best.  Will 
you  not  break  through  the  tradition  to- 
night— for  me?" 


A  TEIUMPHANT  D^IBUT. 


87 


The  last  words  were  very  low,  the 
handsome  eyes  very  soft,  but  she  turned 
her  own  away. 

"It  is  impossible,"  she  said,  coldly. 
"  People  would  imagine — a  great  deal 
which  would  have  no  foundation.  I  will 
put  you  down  for  a  quadrille  later  in  the 
evening,  if  I  should  dance  again,  which 
is  rather  unlikely." 

"I  shall  be  grateful  for  anything  you 
choose  to  give  me,"  he  answered,  a  little 
coldly,  in  turn. 

It  did  not  need  this  rebuff  to  show 
him  that  he  was  out  of  favor  to-night ; 
he  had  been  aware  of  it  ever  since  he  first 
approached  Miss  Waldron.  During  the 
past  few  days  she  had  fenced  off  all  lov- 
er-like advances,  and  kept  him  very  clev- 
erly at  a  distance ;  but  he  had  esteemed 
such  conduct  to  be  merely  coquetry,  and 
had  given  it  little  thought.  Now,  how- 
ever, he  was  sure  that  some  serious  in- 
fluence was  at  work,  and  he  felt  some- 
what uneasy  as  well  as  considerably  of- 
fended. 

Under  the  influence  of  the  last  feeling, 
he  left  his  chair  and  quitted  the  drawing- 
room  before  the  glee  was  ended.  Pass- 
ing along  the  hall,  he  approached  the 
door  of  the  apartment  behind  the  stage. 

As  he  did  so,  the  person  of  whom  he 
was  in  search  came  rushing  out  so  eager- 
ly that  she  almost  ran  into  his  arms. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked,  as 
she  caught  herself  just  in  time  to  avoid 
a  collision.  "  Has  anything  happened?  " 

"  O  Mr.  Marchmont !  "  she  exclaimed. 
Then  she  went  on  quickly  :  "  Yes,  some- 
thing has  happened.  Felix  has  nearly 
fainted,  and  I  want  water  for  him." 

"  Go  back,  and  I  will  bring  it  to  you," 
said  Marchmont. 

The  water  was  easily  procured,  and 
wine  also.  Followed  by  a  servant  carry- 
ing both,  Marchmont  went  to  the  room, 
where  he  found  Amy  and  Felix  alone, 
the  members  of  "The  Cecilia"  having 
taken  leave  some  time  before  in  antici- 
pation of  dancing. 

Looking  very  wan,  Felix  was  reclin- 


ing on  the  end  of  a  sofa,  while  Amy 
fanned  him.  He  glanced  up  with  a  smile 
when  Marchmont  approached,  drank  the 
water,  but  declined  the  wine. 

"I  did  not  faint,"  he  said.  "I  was 
only  tired,  and  Amy  was  frightened.  I 
suppose  I  am  not  well.  I  am  a  little 
feverish,  and  my  throat  is  sore ;  but  I 
will  ask  papa  to  take  me  home,  and  I 
shall  be  all  right  when  I  get  to  bed." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  over- exerted 
yourself,"  said  Marchmont,  taking  one  of 
the  small,  burning  hands. 

I  suppose  I  have,"  the  boy  answered, 
languidly. 

The  glee  ended  at  this  moment,  and 
the  performers,  together  with  Mr.  Key- 
nolds,  entered  the  room. 

As  soon  as  the  latter  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Felix's  face,  he  hurried  forward,  too 
anxious  to  notice  Marchmont's  presence. 

"  I  was  afraid  it  would  be  too  much 
for  you,"  he  said,  after  the  matter  had 
been  explained.  "  You  must  go  home  at 
once. — Amy,  get  your  wraps.  I  will  go 
and  see  about  the  carriage." 

Amy's  countenance  fell  so  abjectly  at 
this,  that  Felix  interposed. 

"Please  don't  make  Amy  go,  papa, 
because  /  am  obliged  to  do  so,"  he  said. 
"It  will  be  too  hard!  Let  her  stay  and 
see  the  dancing." 

"  She  can't  stay  by  herself,"  said  Mr. 
Reynolds,  impatiently ;  "  and  there  is  no- 
body with  whom  I  can  leave  her." 

Marchmont  had  fallen  back,  since  he 
knew  that  to  intrude  himself  on  Mr.  Rey- 
nolds's  attention  would  seal  Amy's  fate, 
as  far  as  immediate  departure  was  con- 
cerned ;  but  some  one  unexpectedly  en- 
tered, and  heard  Mr.  Keynolds's  last 
words. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  a  genial  voice. 
"  Do  you  want  some  one  to  look  after 
this  brilliant  young  debutante?  Can  I 
fill  the  position  ?  It  is  true  I  am  not  ex- 
actly a  chaperon,  but  I  will  see  that  no 
harm  befalls  her,  and  I'll  take  her  safely 
home,  if  that  will  do." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Trafford!  "  said 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


Amy,  gratefully.     "  I  am  sure  papa  will 
trust  me  with  you." 

"  Of  course,"  said  papa,  to  whom  at 
this  moment  she  was  of  the  least  possi- 
ble importance,  "  if  Mr.  Trafford  will  be 
kind  enough  to  look  after  you,  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  him. — Felix,  my  boy,  I'll  see 
about  the  carriage,  and  then  we'll  go." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

"l   HAVE   LIVED   AXD   LOVED." 

"  PEAY  don't  give  yourself  any  trouble 
about  taking  care  of  me,  Mr.  Trafford," 
said  Amy,  with  an  earnestness  which  it  is 
to  be  hoped  was  disinterested.  "  I  know 
you  want  to  play  whist  or  something  of 
the  sort,  so  if  you  will  leave  me  in  the 
ballroom,  I  shall  amuse  myself  very  well 
looking  on  at  the  dancing." 

"You  expect  to  do  something  more 
than  look  on,  I  am  sure,"  said  Mr.  Traf- 
ford, smiling. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  she  answered,  with 
a  slight  sigh. 

This  conversation  occurred  after  Mr. 
Reynolds  and  Felix  had  taken  their  de- 
parture ;  and  Mr.  Trafford,  with  his  young 
charge,  turned  to  ward  the  ballroom,  where 
the  opening  quadrille  was  being  formed. 

"  Oh,  how  delightful !  "  exclaimed 
Amy,  with  an  ecstasy  which  amused  her 
companion,  when  the  whole  bright  scene 
burst  on  her — a  scene  so  common,  yet  to 
her  so  novel,  and  so  entirely  the  realiza- 
tion of  many  dreams. 

"Delightful,  eh!"  said  the  middle- 
aged  man.  "  "Well,  it  does  not  strike  me 
altogether  in  that  light.  Dancing  must 
be  rather  warm  work  to-night,  I  think — 
nevertheless,  my  dear,  I  am  sorry  for 
your  sake  that  my  dancing  days  are  over." 

"Oh,"  said  Amy,  disparagingly,  "I 
should  not  think  it  would  suit  you  at  all. 
One  needs  to  be  young  and  active  to  enjoy 
dancing.  I  hope  somebody  will  ask  me !  " 
she  went  on,  most  sincerely.  "  I  never 


had  a  chance  before  to  dance  in  a  real 
ballroom,  and  what  charming  music !  " 

"  Of  course  somebody  must  ask  you," 
said  Mr.  Trafford,  looking  round  as  if  to 
see  whom  he  could  collar  and  compel  to 
this  act  of  social  civility. 

Fate  at  this  moment  interposed  kindly 
in  Amy's  behalf,  and  spared  him  the 
necessity  of  any  such  stringent  measure. 
Two  sets  had  been  formed  on  the  floor, 
and  one  more  couple  was  needed  to  fill 
out  the  second. 

It  was  imperatively  necessary  that 
this  deficiency  should  be  supplied,  and  an 
unemployed  young  gentleman  near  by 
was  called  upon  to  get  a  partner  and 
come  to  the  rescue. 

He  glanced  round  vaguely  in  search 
of  that  article,  and  saw  the  nymph-like 
girl  by  Mr.  Trafford's  side.  Being  a  Ce- 
cilian,  he  knew  who  she  was,  and  felt  no 
hesitation  in  addressing  her;  so,  saying 
quickly,  "  Miss  Amy  do  you  dance  ?  May 
I  have  the  pleasure?  "  Amy  found  her- 
self placed  in  position ;  the  next  moment 
the  music  began,  the  bows  were  made, 
and  she  was  absolutely  dancing  at  a  "  real 
ball." 

For  a  little  while  the  exhilaration  con- 
sequent upon  this  fact,  and  the  attention 
she  felt  it  necessary  to  bestow  on  the 
faces  and  toilets  round,  made  her  forget 
to  wonder  where  Marchmont  was;  but 
this  preoccupation  did  not  last  very  long, 
and  in  the  first  interval  she  glanced  round 
the  room  for  him.  So  far  as  she  could 
ascertain,  he  was  not  to  be  seen,  either 
among  the  dancers  or  the  spectators. 

Miss  Waldron  she  soon  singled  out. 
The  young  heiress  was  dancing  in  the 
next  set,  and  looking  magnificently  hand- 
some in  amber  silk,  with  diamonds  flash- 
ing on  her  neck  and  arms  and  in  her  dark 
hair. 

Amy  sighed  as  she  looked  at  the 
queenly  figure — a  sigh  which  did  not  pro- 
ceed from  envy  so  much  as  from  a  sad 
realization  that  this  woman  was  her  rival. 
She  seemed  to  feel  her  own  insignificance 
as  she  had  never  felt  it  before,  under  the 


HAVE  LIVED  AND   LOVED." 


89 


shadow  of  the  prosperity  which  was  em- 
bodied in  everything  around  her. 

A  vague  sense  of  the  wildness  of  her 
folly  came  to  her.  How  could  she  dream 
that  a  man  of  the  world  like  Marchmont 
would  turn  away  from  all  that  Beatrix 
Waldron  offered,  for  her  sake  ? 

The  quadrille  over,  her  partner  de- 
posited her  in  a  chair,  bowed,  and  went 
away,  feeling  no  obligation  to  bestow  any 
further  civility  upon  a  person  of  such 
small  importance. 

So  the  girl  sat  alone,  and  looked  with 
dreamy  eyes  at  the  figures  revolving  be- 
fore her  like  colors  in  a  kaleidoscope.  As 
the  hum  of  voices  and  laughter  fell  on 
her  ear,  a  consciousness  of  isolation  began 
to  oppress  her.  Mr.  Trafford  had  van- 
ished, and  there  was  still  no  sign  of 
Marchmont,  while  no  one  else  noticed 
her  presence  in  the  least. 

"  I  had  better  have  gone  home  with 
papa  and  Felix,"  she  thought,  a  little 
ruefully. 

But  these  melancholy  sensations  were 
scattered  like  mists  by  the  sun  when  the 
musicians  began  to  play  the  delicious 
melody  of  a  Strauss  waltz,  and  a  well- 
known  voice  said  in  her  ear : 

Cherie,  will  you  dance  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  have  come  at  last !  "  she 
said,  turning,  with  delight  involuntarily 
expressed  by  eye,  lip,  and  cheek.  "  I 
thought  I  should  not  see  you  again — and 
yet  I  don't  know  why  I  should  have  been 
surprised  at  that"  she  added,  quickly,  re- 
membering his  neglect  during  the  past  few 
days. 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  why  yon 
would  have  had  reason  to  be  surprised  at 
that,"  Marchmont  answered,  with  a  smile. 
"I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  you,  and  I 
shall  make  an  opportunity  to  say  it  pres- 
ently; but  let  us  have  our  waltz  first. 
Aliens!" 

It  was  like  a  dream  to  Amy  when,  a 
minute  later,  they  were  floating  over  the 
polished  floor  to  strains  that  might  have 
made  a  statue  dance. 

The  golden  minutes  of  life  are  very 


fleet,  but  she  grasped  a  few  of  them  while 
the  blissful  dance  lasted. 

Marchrnont's  choice  of  a  partner  ex- 
cited a  little  surprise  and  comment  among 
his  friends  and  acquaintances.  That  one 
so  fastidious  and  supercilious  should,  out 
of  a  whole  "  rose-bud  garden  of  girls,"  se- 
lect Amy  Reynolds,  appeared  remarkable 
to  those  who  knew  nothing  of  what  had 
gone  before ;  but  to  those  who  read  his 
conduct  by  the  light  of  past  events  the 
simple  act  seemed  very  much  one  of  de- 
fiance. 

So  it  appeared  to  Mrs.  Lathrop,  who 
lowered  her  eye-glass  with  an  air  that  ex- 
pressed distinctly,  "  After  this,  we  may 
expect  anything!  " 

Florence  paused  to  whisper : 

"  I  am  afraid  Brian  and  Beatrix  have 
had  some  disagreement,  mamma.  Do 
you  notice  how  they  avoid  each  other?  " 

"  It  is  fortunately  a  matter  of  no  im- 
portance to  -MS,"  said  Mrs.  Lathrop,  with 
dignity.  "  Your  cousin  must  attend  to 
his  own  affairs." 

The  cousin  thus  severely  abjured  was 
attending  to  his  own  affairs  with  great 
satisfaction  to  himself  and  Amy. 

He  had  acted  on  an  impulse — which 
was  something  very  rare  with  him — in 
asking  her  to  dance ;  but  he  could  not 
regret  it  as  he  clasped  the  lissome  form 
close  to  him  in  the  circling  whirl  of  the 
waltz.  Episodes  of  flirtation  were  so 
common  in  his  life,  that  it  amazed  him 
to  feel  how  loyal  his  fancy  was  to  Amy. 

"  There  is  a  piquant  charm  about  her," 
he  thought,  "  which  no  doubt  accounts 
for  it." 

Whatever  accounted  for  it,  the  fact 
remained  that  this  girl,  in  her  poverty 
and  insignificance,  possessed  an  attraction 
for  him  which  older,  fairer,  richer  women 
had  failed  to  exert. 

They  waltzed,  with  one  or  two  short 
pauses  for  rest,  until  the  music  ceased. 
Then  Marchmont  said,  abruptly  : 

"  Let  us  find  some  cooler  place ;  the 
heat  and  glare  here  are  intolerable." 

If  he  had  proposed  to  find  a  furnace, 


90 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


Amy  would  hardly  have  dissented,  so  de- 
lightful was  the  mere  consciousness  of 
being  with  him  again ;  but  she  had  cer- 
tainly no  objection  to  being  led  from  the 
ballroom  to  the  delightful  coolness  and 
semi-darkness  of  the  outer  world. 

As  they  passed  through  one  of  tha 
open  windows  they  saw  that  many  others, 
like  themselves,  had  sought  the  grounds. 
By  the  light  of  the  lamps  gleaming  in 
every  direction  figures  in  groups  and  pairs 
were  to  be  seen  sauntering  to  and  fro, 
now  visible,  then  passing  into  sudden 
eclipse  with  a  pretty,  shifting  effect. 

Marchmont  muttered  a  malediction  on 
the  illumination. 

"  What  an  absurd  idea  to  light  up  trees 
and  shrubs !  "  he  said.  "  I  wonder  if  no 
spot  has  escaped  the  old  general's  rage  for 
decoration  ? " 

"The  cedars  are  not  lighted,"  said 
Amy.  "  Can  we  not  sit  under  them  ? " 

"  We  can,  and  we  will,"  he  answered, 
leading  her  toward  them. 

It  was  by  Miss  Waldron's  special  re- 
quest that  the  cedars  had  been  spared  the 
"  rage  for  decoration,"  and  it  chanced 
that  she  was  sitting  under  them,  talking 
earnestly  to  Archer,  when  Marchmont 
and  Amy  approached. 

There  were  two  rustic  seats — each 
capable  of  holding  two  persons — placed 
so  that  the  triple  trunk  of  the  group  of 
cedars  separated  them,  while  the  low- 
drooping  boughs  overshadowed  both. 

Miss  Waldron  and  her  companion  were 
seated  on  the  bench  farthest  from  the 
house,  and  a  pause  had  occurred  in  their 
conversation,  when  they  were  both  star- 
tled by  hearing  Amy's  bell-like  tones  ex- 
claim : 

"  How  pleasant  this  is !  We  can  see 
everything  without  being  seen,  the  shade 
is  so  deep  here." 

"  Yes,  blessed  be  the  hand  that  planted 
these  patriarchs,  and  still  more  blessed  the 
one  which  refrained  from  hanging  their 
boughs  with  lamps !  "  Marchmont  an- 
swered. "  And  now,  Amy,  oy  darling,  I 
have  you  for  a  little  while  all  to  myself." 


"Oh,  how  cruel  you  have  been!" 
cried  Amy,  with  a  quiver  suggestive  of 
tears  in  her  voice.  "  How  could  you  stay 
away  as  you  have  done,  and — and  let  me 
break  my  heart,  without  saying  a  word  ? " 

"Have  you  broken  your  heart?"  he 
asked,  in  a  caressing  tone.  "  You  don't 
look  like  it,  my  pretty  one.  I  thought 
to-night,  when  you  appeared,  that  I  had 
never  known  how  lovely  you  are,  and 
that  is  saying  a  great  deal,  since  I  knew 
very  well.  But  to  stay  away  was  a  mat- 
ter of  necessity,  ma  lelle.  Could  I  go  to 
your  house,  after  your  father  had  re- 
quested me  to  leave  it?  Plainly,  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  bide  my  time — 
and  see  what  I  have  gained  by  doing  so !  " 

"  And  do  you  think  it  a  reward  ?  " 
asked  Amy,  wistfully.  "  Are  you  really 
glad  to  be  with  me  again  ?  " 

"  Keally  glad  ?  I  wish  I  could  tell  you 
how  glad  I  am! — for,  in  truth,  I  think  you 
have  bewitched  me,  you  small  witch ! 
Why  else  should  I  feel,  like  a  lovesick 
boy,  that  my  only  pleasure  here  to-night 
is  in  your  society  ?  " 

"Do  you  feel  so?"  asked  Amy,  still 
wistfully.  "  But  is  it  true,  as  I  have  been 
told,"  she  went  on,  faltering  and  hesitat- 
ing, "  that — that  you  are  trying  to  marry 
Miss  Waldron?  I  cannot  believe  it,"  she 
cried,  clasping  her  hands.  "  I  only  ask 
because  I  hear  it  so  often." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause — a  pause 
which  seemed  long  not  only  to  Amy,  but 
to  the  two  spellbound  listeners  on  the 
other  side  of  the  tree. 

Archer  was  in  a  horrible  state  of  doubt. 
Should  he  take  Beatrix  away  from  what 
he  felt  was  coming,  or  should  he  let  her 
remain  and  hear  with  her  own  ears  the 
evidence  of  her  suitor's  treachery  ? 

Beatrix,  on  her  part,  felt  as  if  some 
overwhelming  force  was  laid  upon  her, 
compelling  her  to  await  Marchmont's  re- 
ply. By  a  strong  effort  she  might  have 
spoken,  perhaps,  but  she  was  utterly  un- 
able to  move. 

Presently  Marchmont  spoke — slowly 
and  gravely :  "  I  am  not  sorry  you  have 


I   HAVE   LIVED   AND   LOVED.' 


91 


asked  that  question,"  he  said.  "  I  think 
it  is  hest  to  tell  you  the  truth  frankly,  and 
I  am  sure  you  will  be  reasonable  with  re- 
gard to  it.  I  am,  comparatively  speaking, 
a  poor  man,  my  pretty  Amy — that  is,  I 
am  too  poor  for  my  position  and  the  ob- 
jects I  have  set  before  myself  in  life.  To 
achieve  these  objects — one  of  which  is 
political  distinction — I  must  have  money ; 
and  not  only  money,  but  certain  other 
worldly  advantages.  These  advantages  I 
can  best  secure  by  a  marriage  with  Miss 
"Waldron.  Such  a  marriage  will  be  purely 
of  convenience,  and  will  not  alter  the 
fact  that  I  love  you." 

"  Come  away !  "  said  Archer,  in  a  low, 
stern  voice,  and  involuntarily  he  laid  his 
hand  as  he  spoke  on  Beatrix's  wrist. 
"  This  is  no  place  for  you — come  away !  " 

"  One  moment !  "  she  answered  in  a 
whisper.  "  "Wait  one  moment !  " 

If  she  wished  to  wait  for  Amy's  an- 
swer, it  came  quickly  enough.  That  sen- 
sation which  the  French  call  a  serrement 
du  caur  held  the  girl  for  a  moment  in  its 
strong  grasp,  but  only  for  a  moment. 
Despite  her  folly  and  credulity,  she  was 
not  weak,  and  the  strength  of  her  nature 
asserted  itself  now. 

She  drew  herself  resolutely  out  of  the 
clasp  of  Marchmont's  arms,  which  had 
encircled  her,  and  looked  at  him  in  the 
dim  light,  with  her  fair,  young  face  set  in 
harder  lines  than  it  had  ever  worn  before. 

"  So  Hugh  was  right!  "  she  said;  and 
how  changed  her  voice  sounded  1  "  I  have 
been  a  fool,  and  you  have  been  only  tri- 
fling with  me !  You  sought  me  out,  you 
professed  to  love  me,  you  have  made  me 
the  object  of  gossip  and  slander  ;  and  now 
you  tell  me  that  you  are  going  to  marry 
another  woman,  and  that  I  have  only 
served  to  amuse  you  1  Perhaps  I  ought 
to  have  known  that  a  man  like  you  would 
not  think  of  me  in  any  other  way  ;  but  I 
have  been  a  fool.  I  am  a  fool  no  longer, 
however !  "  she  cried  out,  with  a  sudden 
burst  of  passion.  "  Don't  touch  me,  Mr. 
Marchmont;  I  am  done  with  you  for- 
ever ! " 


"I  did  not  expect  this,  Amy,"  said 
Marchmont,  beginning  to  think  he  had 
made  a  great  mistake  in  his  explanation. 
"  I  thought  that,  young  as  you  are,  you 
had  more  reason  than  most  women,  and 
that  you  loved  me  well  enough  to  be  un- 
selfish and  understand  my  position." 

"I  understand  it  perfectly,"  replied 
Amy,  with  quivering  lips ;  "  you  need 
not  explain  it  any  more.  I  have  served 
your  convenience  in  one  way ;  Miss  Wal- 
dron is  to  serve  it  in  another.  I  am  poor 
and  obscure  now,"  she  went  on,  with  a 
dramatic  intensity  all  the  more  effective 
for  being  the  natural  impulse  and  inspi- 
ration of  the  passion  that  possessed  her ; 
"  but  I  feel,  I  Icnow,  that  I  shall  not  always 
be  so!  and  if  ever  it  is  in  my  power  to 
return  this  upon  you,  Brian  Marchmont, 
I  will  do  so  mercilessly  !  " 

u  Amy,"  said  Marchmont,  coldly,  "  this 
folly  is  absurd  and  disgusting.  1  had  no 
idea  you  were  so  weak  and  ignorant.  If 
you  knew  anything  of  the  world,  you 
would  know  that  I  cannot  possibly  act 
otherwise." 

"I  know  something  of  the  world," 
said  a  sudden  voice,  the  tones  of  which 
were  cold  as  ice  and  keen  as  steel,  "  and 
I  am  not  aware  that  a  man  of  the  world 
is  necessarily  debarred  from  being  a  man 
of  honor." 

Marchmont  sprang  to  his  feet,  for 
once  in  his  life  thoroughly  dismayed  and 
discomposed.  Before  him  stood  a  stately 
figure,  on  which  a  stream  of  light  from, 
the  windows  of  the  ballroom  fell,  show- 
ing the  clear-cut,  scornful  face  turned  full 
upon  him. 

"  Beatrix !  "  he  gasped. 

"Miss  "Waldron,  if  you  please,"  Be- 
atrix answered,  in  the  same  calm,  cold 
tones.  "I  have  never  given  you  the  right 
to  call  me  anything  else,  and  you  may  be 
assured  that  I  never  shall  do  so.  When 
you  did  me  the  honor  of  offering  yourself 
to  me  some  weeks  ago,  I  believe  I  told 
you  that  I  wished  to  be  certain  respect- 
ing the  man  I  married.  That  question  is 
settled  with  regard  to  you,  Mr.  March- 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


mont ;  I  have  tested  you  thoroughly,  and 
I  have  found  you  devoid  of  honor,  devoid 
of  truth,  devoid  even  of  that  principle 
which  men  call  common  honesty." 

Marchmont  threw  his  shoulders  and 
his  head  haughtily  back.  "With  all  his 
faults  he  was  no  coward,  and,  recognizing 
the  fact  that  his  cause  was  hopelessly  lost 
with  Beatrix  "Waldron,  he  was  ready  to 
make  a  retreat  in  good  order. 

"  It  is  very  well  known,"  he  said, 
"  that  women  have  an  impunity  in  offer- 
ing insults  which  is  not  allowed  to  men  ; 
but  I  hardly  fancied  Miss  "Waldron  would 
avail  herself  of  it,  or  that  she  would  feel 
no  hesitation  in  acknowledging  herself  an 
eavesdropper." 

"  I  have  no.  apology  to  make  for  being 
here,"  said  Miss  "Waldron,  while  Archer 
stepped  quickly  forward  from  the  shade 
where  he  had  lingered  and  placed  himself 
by  her  side.  "  I  am  glad,  indeed,  that  I 
was  here  when  you  came ;  what  I  have 
overheard  has  given  me  no  new  infor- 
mation with  regard  to  you,  but  it  has  made 
me  think  better  of  this  poor  girl. — You 
have  spoken  in  a  manner  that  does  you 
credit,"  she  said,  turning  to  Amy.  "  In 
order  to  make  you  further  understand 
what  this  man  is,  let  me  te1!  you  that  one 
word  from  him  would  have  removed  all 
suspicion  from  Hugh  Dinsmore  with  re- 
gard to  the  loss  of  the  miniature,  which 
has  caused  so  much  trouble.  Not  content 
with  not  speaking  this  word,  he  has  de- 
liberately tried  to  throw  suspicion  on  the 
boy  whom  he  knew  to  be  innocent. — You 
wonder,  perhaps,  how  I  gained  this 
knowledge?  "  she  said,  addressing  March- 
mont, whom  amazement  rendered  speech- 
less. "  You  thought  yourself  alone  in 
Mr.  Reynolds' s  parlor  when  you  took  the 
miniature  from  Oliver;  but  Mr.  Trafford 
was  there  before  you  went  in.  He  heard 
everything ;  and,  when  you  dropped  the 
picture  in  searching  for  your  hat,  he  took 
it  and  kept  it,  wishing  to  see  if  you  would 
be  honorable  enough  to  avow  your  share 
in  the  matter.  Eeturning  to  Edgerton 
after  an  absence  of  eight  days,  he  found 


that  you  had  not  spoken,  and  so  he  brought 
the  picture  to  me." 

As  her  clear,  incisive  tones  ceased, 
silence  fell.  Never  in  all  his  life  had 
Brian  Marchmont  occupied  such  a  posi- 
tion before — one  so  hopeless  of  explana- 
tion, so  unutterably  humiliating.  The 
blood  surged  in  his  veins  like  fire,  while 
mortification  and  rage  fairly  choked  him. 

He  would  fain  have  spoken,  but  for  the 
first  and  last  time  in  his  life  the  very 
power  of  language  seemed  stricken  from 
him,  and  it  was  Miss  Waldron's  voice 
which  broke  the  silence  again. 

"  I  could  go  into  further  details,  but 
it  is  not  worth  while.  I  have  said  enough 
to  show  that  I  understand  everything: 
how  you  have  amused  yourself  with  this 
child,  while  trying  to  marry  me,  '  purely 
for  convenience,'  and  how  false  you  have 
been  even  to  that  conventional  honor 
which  worldly  men  respect.  Our  ac- 
quaintance ends  here  and  now. — Amy, 
come  with  me." 

As  she  extended  her  hand  and  laid  it 
on  the  girl's  arm,  drawing  her  gently  but 
firmly  away,  Marchmont  spoke  hoarsely : 

"  I  decline  to  be  put  on  my  defense, 
or  to  answer  the  charges  you  have  brought 
against  me,  in  the  presence  of  others ; 
but,  if  I  may  speak  to  you  alone — " 

She  turned  on  him  with  a  flash  of  pas- 
sion. 

"  I  will  never  willingly  speak  to  you 
again,  as  long  as  we  both  live!  "  she  said. 
"  Understand  that !  I  am  done  with  you, 
and  I  thank  God  that  I  never — not  for  one 
moment — loved  you. — Come,  Amy." 

In  her  preoccupation  she  forgot  Arch- 
er, and,  since  she  said  nothing  to  him,  he 
hesitated  to  accompany  her  when  she 
turned,  and,  taking  Amy  with  her,  swept 
away — a  more  queenly  woman  than  ever, 
in  the  majesty  of  her  pride  and  indigna- 
tion— a  woman  whom  any  man  might 
have  hated  to  lose. 

Though  she  forgot  him,  Archer  was 
about  to  follow  her,  when  Marchmont — 
feeling,  with  a  sense  of  relief,  that  here 
at  least  was  some  one  whom  he  could  at- 


'I  HAVE  LIVED  AND  LOVED.' 


93 


tack — moved  forward  a  step  and  con- 
fronted him. 

"  Miss  Waldron  is  a  woman,"  he  said, 
"  and,  as  I  remarked,  has  therefore  a  cer- 
tain impunity  in  offering  insult,  but  you 
are  a  man,  and  I  wish  to  know  by  what 
right  you  have  ventured  to  spy  upon  my 
conduct,  to  interfere  with  my  affairs,  and 
to  play  the  eavesdropper  to-night  ?  " 

"  You  can  gain  nothing  by  quarreling 
with  me,  Mr.  Marchmont,"  replied  Arch- 
er, with  contemptuous  coolness.  "  You 
must  be  aware  that  I  have  not  spied  upon 
your  conduct,  interfered  with  your  affairs, 
or  intentionally  played  the  part  of  an 
eavesdropper  to-night." 

"You  are  a  liar!"  said  Marchmont, 
and  lifted  his  hand. 

The  other  caught  it  in  a  grasp  like 
iron. 

"That  is  enough,"  he  said.  "It  is 
very  natural  that  you  should  not  know 
what  you  are  doing  now ;  but  if — when 
you  are  sane  to-morrow — you  still  desire 
to  hold  me  accountable  for  the  part  I 
have  taken  in  Miss  Waldron's  affairs,  you 
know  where  I  am  to  be  found.  Good- 
evening." 

He  loosed  his  grasp  on  Marchmont's 
arm  as  he  spoke,  and,  turning  on  his  heel, 
walked  deliberately  away. 

The  other  might  not  have  allowed  this 
but  for  the  fact  that  he  could  not  have 
detained  him  without  creating  a  scene — 
which  is  something  that,  even  in  mortal 
extremity,  no  well-bred  man  desires  to 
do. 

The  grounds  were  still  full  of  people, 
though  the  music  of  a  quadrille  was  peal- 
ing out  from  the  ballroom.  On  a  warm 
May  night,  coolness,  fragrance,  and  unlim- 
ited opportunities  for  flirtation,  seemed 
to  the  youthful  mind  even  more  desirable 
than  dancing. 

Nevertheless,  there  were  plenty  of 
dancers  "dancing  in  tune "  when  Archer, 
who  had  little  fancy  for  ballrooms,  ap- 
proached the  house. 

Some  rather  trite  reflections  occurred 
to  him,  as  they  would  have  been  apt  to 


occur  to  any  one,  on  the  different  phases 
of  human  life  which  often  come  so  sharp- 
ly in  contact — the  bright  and  dark,  the 
tragedy  and  comedy,  the  earnestness  and 
frivolity,  discordant  elements  that  elbow 
each  other  constantly. 

He  felt  profoundly  grateful  that  Bea- 
trix "Waldron  was  saved  from  the  marriage 
which  had  threatened  her  happiness ;  but 
he  wondered,  with  something  of  a  pang, 
how  much  truth  there  was  in  those  last 
words  she  had  uttered — those  words 
which  declared  that  she  had  never  for 
a  moment  loved  Marchmont.  Pride 
would  have  nerved  her  to  say  that,  he 
thought ;  but  was  it,  could  it  be,  strictly 
true? 

He  might  have  believed  it  if  he  could 
have  seen  Beatrix,  and  realized  that  her 
composure  was  no  mere  mask,  but  an  in- 
herent fact.  When  she  first  discovered 
Marchmont's  perfidy,  she  had  been  moved 
by  it,  as  few  women  under  the  circum- 
stances could  have  failed  to  be  moved — 
but  that  time  was  past.  What  she  had 
heard  to-night  had  been  but  a  confirma- 
tion of  what  she  had  heard  before,  and 
therefore  its  effect  had  been  transitory. 
It  was  of  Amy  she  thought  now,  and 
she  led  the  girl  straight  to  her  own  apart- 
ment. 

"  You  can  be  quiet  here  and  recover 
yourself,"  she  said,  not  ungently;  "but 
believe  me  the  best  means  of  recovery 
will  be  to  remember  that  the  man  with 
whom  you  have  fancied  yourself  in  love 
is  not  worth  a  thought — much  less  a  tear. 
Mr.  Trafford  will  tell  you  hereafter  the 
whole  story  of  the  miniature.  I  tell  you 
that  Brian  Marchmont  has  acted  in  the 
most  dishonorable  manner,  both  to  you 
and  to  me.  He  has  made  love  to  you  be- 
cause you  amused  him;  he  has  tried  to 
marry  me  because  I  am  rich.  Let  us  put 
him  out  of  our  lives  to-night,  and  never  * 
think  of  him  again." 

Amy  looked  up  with  something  in  her 
glance  which  the  other  did  not  exactly 
understand.  Her  face  was  perfectly  calm, 
though  white  as  marble,  but  her  eyes  were 


94 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


dilated  and  full  of  an  expression  difficult 
to  analyze,  impossible  to  describe. 

"That  may  be  easy  to  you,"  she  an- 
swered, quietly,  "because  you  said,  out 
yonder,  that  you  never  loved  him.  I  did. 
And  one  can't  forget  love  in  a  minute — 
can  one  ?  I  hate  him — oh,  yes,  I  hate  him 
far  more  than  you  can,  for  he  has  not 
made  a  plaything  of  your  heart.  I  will 
never  forgive  him — never  as  long  as  I 
live — and,  if  I  ever  have  the  power,  I  will 
pay  my  debt  to  him ;  but,  all  the  same, 
I  am  obliged  to  suffer  now,  for  I  loved 
Mm!" 

"  Contempt  is  better  and  safer  than 
hatred,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Waldron. 

Again  the  strange,  brilliant  eyes — un- 
dimmed  by  a  tear — looked  up  at  her. 

"Contempt  will  do  for  you,"  she 
said,  "  but  /  must  hate — because  I  have 
loved." 

The  elder  woman  was  silent — in  fact, 
she  felt  suddenly  and  oddly  startled. 
Amy's  manner  was  so  unlike  that  of  an 
ordinary  girl  of  her  age,  her  words  were 
so  different  from  those  which  might  nat- 
urally have  been  expected  from  her  lips, 
that  Beatrix  felt  like  one  out  of  her  reck- 
oning. She  had  looked  for  tears,  prob- 
ably— for  indignation,  perhaps — but  this 
calm  assertion  of  love  and  hate  altogether 
puzzled  her. 

After  a  minute's  pause,  she  said : 

"  I  must  go  down.  Do  you  care  to 
come  with  me,  or  will  you  stay  here? " 

"  I  will  stay  here,  thank  you,"  Amy 
answered,  with  the  same  immobile 
quiet.  "  Will  you  please  tell  Mr.  Traf- 
ford  to  send  for  me  when  he  wants 
to  go  ? " 

Promising  to  do  this,  Miss  Waldron 
went  away,  leaving  the  pretty,  graceful 
figure  alone  in  the  luxuriously-fitted 
room. 

Even  after  the  last  echo  of  her  foot- 
step ceased  Amy  sat  motionless,  listening 
to  the  gay  strains  of  music  floating  up 
from  below,  looking  through  the  wide- 
open  casement  out  on  the  brilliant 
grounds  and  up  at  the  blue,  starry  sky, 


thinking — thinking — still  thinking,  of  the 
sudden  blow  that  had  darkened  all  things 
for  her. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
"THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DTTST  LIES  DEAD." 

ME.  TEAFFOED,  who  had  heard  from 
Miss  Waldron  an  account  of  what  had 
occurred,  was,  like  the  latter,  struck  by 
the  change  in  Amy  when  she  came  at  his 
summons  to  go  home. 

There  were  no  signs  of  tears  on  the 
pale,  fair  young  face ;  there  was  no  trace 
of  agitation  in  the  strangely  composed, 
almost  apathetic  manner. 

"I  am  quite  ready  to  go,"  she  said, 
indifferently,  when  he  made  a  remark 
about  taking  her  away  so  early. 

She  did  not  even  glance  toward  the 
ballroom,  which  had  seemed  to  her  a 
palace  of  delight  so  short  a  time  before. 
She  took  his  arm  as  if  she  had  been  three- 
score, and  walked  out  of  the  festive 
house  without  a  glance  behind. 

As  they  drove  away,  she  turned  and 
said,  with  the  same  odd  quiet : 

"  Will  you  tell  me  all  about  the  min- 
iature that  was  lost  ?  I  should  like  to 
hear  the  whole  story.  Papa  will  be 
sorry  to  know  that  Oliver  was  concerned 
in  it." 

"Oliver's  share  in  the  matter  was 
very  slight,"  said  Mr.  Trafford.  "Do 
you  really  want  to  hear  the  story  ?  Well," 
he  added,  partly  to  himself,  "perhaps 
this  is  as  good  a  time  as  any  other.  You 
must  know,  then,  that,  on  the  evening 
when  the  miniature  was  lost,  I  received 
a  telegram  summoning  me  away  on  busi- 
ness, and  I  decided  to  leave  Edgerton 
that  night.  I  had  some  final  arrange- 
ments to  make  with  your  father  about 
Felix,  and,  being  uncertain  as  to  how  long 
I  might  be  detained,  I  walked  over  to  his 
house  in  order  to  make  them.  Every  one 
seamed  out.  The  door  stood  open,  but 
no  one  answered  my  summons ;  so  I  en- 


THE   LIGHT   IN  THE   DUST   LIES  DEAD. 


95 


tered  the  parlor,  thinking  that  I  would 
wait  until  some  one  appeared.  I  had 
heen  there  only  a  short  time  when  I  heard 
your  voice  at  the  door.  Marchmont  was 
with  you — " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  interrupted. 
"  Never  mind  that." 

"But  it  is  on  that  that  the  story 
hinges,"  said  Mr.  Trafford.  "I  did  not 
listen  to  your  conversation.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  retired  to  a  corner  and  lay  down 
on  a  sofa,  to  wait  until  the  coast  was 
clear.  Presently  you  ran  into  the  house 
and  went  up-stairs.  A  minute  later 
Marchmont  followed,  stood  in  the  hall 
for  an  instant  looking  round,  and  then 
entered  the  parlor.  I  lay  quite  still,  so 
that  he  did  not  perceive  me ;  and,  after 
wandering  about  a  little,  he  sat  down 
directly  in  front  of  the  recess  where  I 
was.  He  had  not  been  there  more  than 
a  minute,  when  Oliver  rushed  into  the 
parlor,  calling  for  you.  Marchmont  an- 
swered that  you  were  not  there,  and  asked 
what  he  wanted.  lie  replied  that  he  had 
been  to  Dinsmore's  room,  and  had  found 
a  picture  which  he  had  brought  to  show 
you  '  as  a  good  joke.'  Marchmont  went 
to  the  window,  looked  at  it,  and  then 
told  Oliver  to  leave  it  with  him.  The 
boy  at  first  refused  to  do  this,  but,  when 
one  of  his  associates  called  him,  he  hur- 
riedly gave  it  up,  bidding  the  other  '  show 
it  to  Amy,  for  Hugh's  sweetheart,'  and 
went  away.  Left  alone,  as  he  fancied, 
Marchmont  laughed,  and  uttered  a  few 
words,  of  which  I  only  remember  the 
expression,  '  An  absolute  stroke  of  lucTc."1 
Then  he  slipped  the  miniature  into  his 
pocket,  and  came  back  to  the  place  where 
he  had  been  sitting." 

Here  Amy  interposed. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  she  said, 
"  what  you  mean  to  imply.  You  surely 
cannot  mean  that  a  man  like — like  Mr. 
Marchmont  meant  to  Tceep  the  picture  ?  " 

"Not  for  its  value,"  answered  Mr. 
Trafford ;  "  but,  for  the  purpose  of  annoy- 
ing Hugh  Dinsmore,  he  certainly  meant 
to  keep  it." 


"But  why  should  he  have  wished  to 
annoy  Hugh  ?  " 

"I  am  surprised  that  you  need  to  ask 
that  question ! "  answered  Mr.  Trafford, 
a  little  dryly.  "  You  are  not  aware,  then, 
that  Dinsmore  charged  Marchmont  some 
time  before  with  trifling  with  you,  and 
making  you  the  subject  of  injurious  gos- 
sip, and  by  way  of  reward  was  knocked 
down  and  left  senseless  in  the  highway, 
where  Archer  found  him  some  time  later  ? " 

Amy's  small  hands  clasped  together 
with  painful  force,  but  her  voice  was  still 
firm  and  even  when  she  answered,  "No, 
I  did  not  know  it." 

"  She  has  wonderful  self-control  for  a 
woman — and  so  young  a  woman !  "  Mi'. 
Trafford  thought. — "  It  is  true,  neverthe- 
less," he  said,  aloud;  "therefore  the  in- 
ference is,  that  Marchmont's  chief  motive 
for  acting  as  he  has  done  was  a  desire  to 
injure  Dinsmore.  In  fact,  there  is  no 
other  motive  which  possibly  explains  his 
conduct.  "When  he  came  back  to  the 
place  where  he  had  been  sitting,  it  was 
to  look  for  his  hat ;  in  doing  this  the  min- 
iature dropped  from  his  pocket  unob- 
served, and  after  he  left  the  room  I  picked 
it  up.  A  glance  showed  me  its  value, 
and,  wondering  a  little  how  the  matter 
would  end  if  the  picture  mysteriously 
disappeared,  I  put  it  in  my  pocket  and 
walked  off.  Two  hours  later  I  left  Edg- 
erton.  "When  I  returned  and  heard  of 
the  loss  of  the  miniature,  I  sent  for  Oliver, 
as  you  know,  and  asked  the  meaning  of 
his  silence.  He  confessed  that  he  had 
been  intimidated  by  Marchmont,  and  had 
held  his  tongue  from  fear  of  the  conse- 
quences. Reassured  on  this  point,  he 
was  willing  enough  to  speak ;  so  I  brought 
him  and  the  picture  to  Miss  "Waldron, 
who  sent  at  once  for  Dinsmore. 

Silence  followed  his  last  words.  "What 
Amy  thought  of  the  story,  he  did  not 
know — she  uttered  not  a  word ;  and  a 
minute  later  the  carriage  drew  up  at  Mr. 
Eeynolds's  door. 

Mr.  Trafford  dismissed  it  after  he  had 
assisted  her  to  alight,  and  there  was  some- 


96 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


thing  very  kindly  in  his  manner  as  he  led 
her  up  the  steps  and  opened  the  door.  In 
the  passage  a  lamp  was  burning.  He 
paused  a  moment  to  take  the  cold  little 
hand  in  his,  to  look  with  pity  into  the 
white  young  face  that  in  an  hour  had 
been  robbed  of  its  brightness  and  bloom. 

"  Good-night,  my  dear,"  he  said,  gen- 
tly. "  I  am  sorry  that  your  triumph  should 
have  been  overshadowed  like  this.  I 
would  have  had  it  otherwise,  if  I  could." 

"My  triumph,"  repeated  Amy,  in  the 
tone  of  one  who  vaguely  recalls  something 
forgotten.  "  Oh ! — that  does  not  matter ! 
Good-night,  and  thank  you  for  taking 
care  of  me." 

Neither  face  nor  voice  changed  in  its 
apathetic  calm,  while  her  hand  slipped 
out  of  his  like  a  bit  of  ice.  He  was 
obliged  to  go  away,  in  order  that  she 
might  fasten  the  door  after  him,  but  he 
did  so  with  a  sense  of  discomfort. 

"  Something  out  of  the  ordinary  way, 
there !  "  he  thought,  as  he  found  himself 
on  the  street,  proceeding  toward  Mrs. 
Crenshaw's.  "If  she  were  not  so  young, 
I  should  understand  it  better.  Despite 
her  youth,  I  fear  the  blow  has  struck 
very  deep.  Poor,  pretty  little  Amy!  it 
is  hardly  fair  to  blame  her  for  being  a 
fool,  since  we  are  all  fools,  more  or  less, 
at  times  in  our  lives !  " 

Amy  having,  meanwhile,  barred  the 
door,  took  the  lamp  and  slowly  went  up- 
stairs. Her  quietude  was  no  mere  mask 
lent  by  pride  and  courage  ;  she  felt  like" 
one  who  had  been  stunned,  and  in  whom 
sensation  for  a  time  was  dead.  "When 
she  entered  her  chamber,  not  even  the 
recollection  of  the  excitement,  the  hope, 
the  longing,  with  which  she  went  forth 
from  it,  had  power  to  move  her.  She 
laid  aside  the  dress  which  she  had  put  on 
with  so  much  innocent  vanity,  and  took 
the  withered  roses  from  her  hair — all 
with  the  same  apathy.  In  truth,  she  felt 
like  one  in  a  dream.  Those  vivid,  terrible 
minutes  under  the  cedars  alone  seemed 
real,  and  she  did  not  lose  the  memory  of 
them  for  an  instant. 


After  she  had  extinguished  the  light 
and  crept  to  bed,  her  mind  continued  to 
go  over  the  same  thing  with  that  madden- 
ing persistence  which  makes  one  some- 
times appreciate  what  the  agony  of  mental 
derangement  must  be.  Every  look,  every 
word,  every  accent,  was  recalled  again  and 
again.  Even  her  short  snatches  of  sleep 
brought  no  relief,  for  memory  was  then, 
if  possible,  more  vivid.  In  these  brief, 
troubled  dreams,  she  lived  over  the  whole 
episode  once  more. 

At  daylight  she  was  roused  from  this 
broken,  unrefreshing  sleep  by  a  knock  at 
her  door.  "  Who  is  .there  ? "  she  asked, 
starting  up.  "  What  is  the  matter?  " 

"It  is  I,  Amy,"  her  father  replied. 
"Felix  is  ill,  and  I  want  you  to  go  to  him 
as  quickly  as  possible.  I  am  going  for 
the  doctor." 

"I  will  be  there  in  a  minute,"  she  an- 
swered, springing  out  of  bed. 

Her  head  ached  from  excitement  and 
loss  of  sleep,  while  her  hands  trembled 
so  that  she  could  scarcely  dress ;  but  she 
managed  to  slip  on  something  in  the  way 
of  attire,  and  went  to  Felix's  room. 

A  glance  at  the  boy's  face  was  suffi- 
cient to  tell  her  that  he  was  very  ill.  His 
fever,  which  had  been  high  all  night,  had 
abated  somewhat  and  left  a  wan  pallor 
behind ;  the  thin  face  looked  thinner  than 
ever,  the  great  eyes  were  surrounded  by 
dark-blue  circles,  and  the  lips  were  pale 
and  dry. 

"  I  am  sorry  papa  called  you,"  he  said. 
"  There  was  no  need,  and  you  must  be 
tired.  I  hope  you  had  a  pleasant  time." 

"I  am  not  tired.  I  had  rather  be 
doing  something,"  she  answered,  evading 
a  reply  to  his  question.  Then  she  laid 
her  hand  on  his  forehead,  saying,  "Does 
your  head  ache  ? " 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  my  throat  that  trou- 
bles me,"  he  answered.  "I  did  not  tell 
papa,  but,  day  before  yesterday,  I  went 
to  see  Harry  Wilson,  who  has  diphtheria. 
If  I  have  that,  Amy,  please  don't  come 
round  me,  for  you  may  take  it." 

"  It  would  not  matter  in  the  least  if  I 


'THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DUST  LIES  DEAD.' 


97 


did,"  said  Amy,  who  at  this  time  would 
not  have  shrunk  from  the  plague.  "  I  am 
not  afraid." 

"When  the  doctor  came,  the  first  thing 
he  did  was  to  feel  Felix's  pulse,  the  sec- 
ond to  look  at  his  throat.  He  had  no 
sooner  glanced  into  the  latter,  than  the 
gravity  that  settled  over  his  countenance 
showed  his  opinion  of  the  case.  He  asked 
a  few  questions,  then  walked  to  the  win- 
dow and  took  out  his  prescription-hook. 

Mr.  Reynolds  followed,  and  laid  a  ner- 
vous grasp  on  his  arm. 

"Is  it  anything  serious?"  he  asked, 
in  a  husky  voice.  "  The  hoy  is  often  un- 
well; he  is  very  nervous  and  delicate. 
I  have  not  thought  much  of  this  illness." 

"  It  is  very  serious,  I  fear,"  replied  the 
doctor,  gravely.  "  Your  son  has  the  most 
malignant  form  of  diphtheria.  I  will  do 
my  best,  but  I  cannot  conceal  from  you 
the  fact  that  his  situation  is  critical.  The 
disease  is  very  contagious,  and  I  advise 
you  to  send  the  other  children  out  of  the 
house  at  once." 

"My  God!  "  said  Mr.  Reynolds,  turn- 
ing ghastly  pale. 

The  last  words  fell  on  his  ear  unheed- 
ed. What  were  the  other  children  to 
him?  He  did  not  even  give  them  a 
thought  in  comparison  with  Felix — Felix, 
his  idol,  his  hope,  his  pride ! 

"  Call  in  other  advice !  "  he  said.  "  Do 
anything — do  everything !  You  may  take 
all  that  I  am  worth,  if  you  will  make  Felix 
well !  " 

"I  shall  do  my  best,"  the  doctor  said, 
again,  looking  with  compassion  at  the 
speaker. 

And  so  it  happened  that  a  trouble  of 
the  most  real  description  laid  its  grasp  on 
Amy,  shaking  her  out  of  the  self-absorp- 
tion which  would  otherwise  have  over- 
come her. 

In  the  terrible  hours  of  watching  and 
anxiety  which  followed  by  Felix's  bedside, 
she  did  not  forget  her  own  pain,  nor  lose 
the  heavy,  aching  sense  of  the  blow  that 
had  fallen  upon  her ;  but  she  had  no  time 
to  dwell  upon  it.  Even  in  ordinary  cases 
7 


there  is  nothing  which  makes  such  a  con- 
stant demand  upon  the  attention  as  the 
duties  of  a  sick-room,  and  here  the  fight 
between  life  and  death  was  short  and 
sharp. 

Very  short,  certainly;  for,  when  the 
second  morning  dawned,  the  doctor  plain- 
ly said,  "  No  hope,"  and  it  was  evident 
to  the  almost  frantic  father  that  Felix 
was  sinking  fast. 

Others  came  and  went,  but  he  did  not 
stir  from  the  bedside,  and  his  face  seemed 
to  grow  momently  more  and  more  hag- 
gard as  he  sat  watching  the  dying  boy, 
as  if  counting  every  painful,  fluttering 
breath.. 

"I  shall  not  go  to  Germany  after  all, 
papa,"  Felix  whispered  once. 

And  Mr.  Reynolds  answered,  passion- 
ately : 

"  You  will — you  must !  God  will  not 
be  so  cruel  as  to  take  you  from  me." 

Alas!  such  protests  avail  little  when 
the  unalterable  decree  has  gone  forth. 
Not  to  Germany,  indeed,  but  to  a  far 
more  distant  country  was  the  young  trav- 
eler bound ;  and,  before  the  sun  sank,  his 
painful  passage  thither  was  over,  and 
only  the  fair,  cold  shell  of  mortality  was 
left  behind. 

Those  who  saw  Mr.  Reynolds's  grief 
were  not  likely  ever  to  forget  it.  It  is 
seldom  that  human  sorrow  is  so  intense, 
so  passionate,  so  bitter.  Usually  the  poig- 
nancy of  the  sharpest  grief  is  in  a  measure 
tempered  by  that  sense  of  the  irrevocable 
to  which  humanity  is  forced  to  submit, 
and  against  which  rebellion  is  so  absolutely 
hopeless.  But  in  this  instance  there  was 
not  the  faintest  semblance  of  resignation. 
One  or  two  people,  who  ventured  to  speak 
of  such  a  thing  to  Mr.  Reynolds,  were 
instantly  silenced  by  the  fierce  impatience 
with  which  he  turned  upon  them.  He 
had  always  possessed  the  high-strung, 
irritable  temperament  which  is  peculiar 
to  musicians,  and  now  grief  and  despair 
seemed  to  possess  him  like  a  consuming 
fire.  He  would  not  quit  Felix's  body  by 


98 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


day  or  night;  and,  since  no  one  dare  ap- 
proach him,  the  question  of  the  funeral 
became  a  serious  difficulty. 

The  difficulty,  however,  was  at  last 
overcome  by  Mr.  Trafford.  He  alone  had 
courage  to  interfere — to  say  what  must 
be  done,  and  to  make  the  necessary  ar- 
rangements for  laying  away  that  placid 
figure  which  was,  and  yet  was  not,  Felix. 
Mr.  Keynolds  submitted,  and  after  this 
— especially  after  the  funeral — a  change 
came  over  him.  His  passionate  despair 
gave  place  to  a  melancholy  from  which 
nothing  had  power  to  rouse  him.  He 
made  no  effort  to  resume  the  labor  of  his 
life;  he  took  no  interest  in  anything. 
His  other  children  were  objects  of  indif- 
ference to  him.  With  Felix  all  the  pur- 
poses of  his  life  seemed  to  end. 

This  did  not  last  very  long.  Medical 
science  sternly  refuses  to  recognize  such 
a  disease  as  "  heart-break ;  "  so  the  doc- 
tors found  some  other  cause  to  account 
for  the  fact  that  Mr.  Keynolds's  life  sud- 
denly snapped  short,  like  a  worn  string. 
It  was  Hugh  Dinsmore  who  entered  the 
parlor,  a  few  days  after  Felix's  funeral, 
and  found  the  musician  sitting  silent  and 
motionless  at  the  piano,  with  his  face 
bowed  upon  the  keyboard.  Hugh  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment,  and  then  addressed 
him.  There  was  no  answer.  He  spoke 
again.  Still  no  reply.  Then  he  advanced, 
and,  with  a  strange  sense  of  awe  and 
foreboding,  touched  the  still  figure — re- 
coiling instantly  with  an  involuntary  cry. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  Pres- 
ence which  had  entered  before  him.  Sit- 
ting alone,  with  the  instrument  which 
was  so  closely  associated  with  his  dead 
boy,  the  heart-broken  father  had  silently 
passed  away  forever. 

At  the  time  this  occurred,  Amy  was 
lying  dangerously  ill  with  diphtheria — 
which  disease,  as  the  doctor  had  antici- 
pated, she  had  taken  from  Felix.  She 
was  stricken  down  with  it  the  day  after 
the  funeral,  but  her  father  had  not  paid 
the  least  attention  to  the  fact.  In  vain 
.Clara  tried  to  awaken  his  anxiety,  think- 


ing that  any  distraction  of  mind  would  be 
an  advantage  to  him.  If  he  heard,  he  did 
not  heed  her.  What  was  Amy's  life  or 
death  to  him  after  Felix  was  gone? 

Poor  Amy  also  came  very  near  going 
to  join  "  the  vast  majority  beyond."  On 
the  border-land  of  life  and  death  she  hov- 
ered for  days ;  and  only  the  superb  vital- 
ity of  youth,  the  rallying-power  of  a 
strong  constitution,  saved  her  from  sink- 
ing as  Felix  had  sunk. 

It  was  at  this  critical  period  that  her 
father's  death  occurred.  Every  effort  was 
made  by  Clara  and  the  doctor,  aided  by 
Mr.  Trafford,  to  keep  the  sad  event  from 
her  knowledge,  and  they  partially  suc- 
ceeded. The  worst  was  over,  and  she 
had  slowly  and  languidly  entered  upon 
the  road  to  health  before  she  heard  of 
this  later  bereavement.  The  intelligence 
came  to  her  accidentally,  as  such  intelli- 
gence often  does.  Mariette — of  whom 
Mrs.  Crenshaw  had  taken  charge  during 
all  this  time  of  trouble  and  grief — was 
the  bearer  of  the  sorrowful  news.  When 
the  child  was  admitted  for  the  first  time 
to  see  her  sister,  Clara  forgot  to  warn  her 
not  to  mention  her  father's  death,  and  so 
it  happened  that  she  made  some  allusion 
to  "poor  papa,"  which  told  Amy  the 
truth — a  truth,  it  may  be  added,  which 
she  partly  suspected  from  her  father's 
absence,  and  from  the  manner  in  which 
her  questions  regarding  him  were  evaded. 

Nevertheless,  when  she  heard  that 
her  fears  had  not  outrun  reality,  her  heart 
seemed  to  stand  still,  and  a  sense  of 
deadly  faintness  rushed  over  her.  But 
she  did  not  faint ;  she  controlled  herself 
by  a  strong  effort,  and  beckoned  the  child 
nearer  to  her. 

"  Tell  me  the  truth,  Mariette — exactly 
the  truth,"  she  said.  "  Is  papa  dead  ? " 

Mariette's  great  blue  eyes  opened  wide 
and  filled  with  tears.  "O  Amy,"  she 
cried,  in  an  awed  tone,  "  didn't  yon  know 
that?  Papa's  been  dead  a  week !" 

"  Dead !  "  repeated  Amy,  as  if  she 
could  hardly  grasp  the  terrible  fact.  Then 
she  threw  up  her  arms  with  a  cry  of  an- 


THE   LIGHT  IN  THE  DUST  LIES  DEAD.' 


99 


gnish.  "My  God!  I  am  indeed  deso- 
late !  "  she  said,  and  burst  into  passionate 
weeping. 

The  immediate  effect  of  this  shock 
was  prostration,  but  the  remote  effect 
\vas  to  hasten  the  girl's  recovery.  Pre- 
vious to  this  she  had  not  seemed  to  care 
whether  she  lived  or  died,  and  her  listless 
indifference  had  greatly  retarded  her  con- 
valescence. Now  she  became  feverishly 
anxious  to  regain  her  health. 

"  Make  me  well — pray,  make  me  well 
at  once !  "  she  said,  imploringly,  to  the 
doctor.  "A  little  while  ago  I  wanted  to 
die,  but  now  I  know  that  I  cannot  afford 
to  do  so.  I  must  get  well,  to  work  for 
Mariette  and  the  boys.  They  have  no- 
body to  depend  on  but  me." 

"  You  must  be  patient,"  answered  the 
doctor ;  and,  despite  the  callousness  which 
was  the  result  of  his  profession,  he  looked 
with  a  sense  of  compassion  at  the  childish 
girl,  who  even  in  the  depth  of  her  deso- 
lation did  not  stand  alone,  but  was  bur- 
dened by  others  weaker  than  herself. 
"You  have  been  very  ill;  you  cannot 
recover  in  a  day.  Don't  let  your  rnind 
be  troubled.  Leave  the  question  of  what 
you  must  do  when  you  get  well  to  your 
friends.  You  are  too  young  to  decide." 

"I  have  no  friends,"  she  answered. 
"There  is  nobody  to  decide  but  myself, 
and  I  have  determined  what  I  will  do." 

"You  have  at  least  one  very  kind 
friend,"  said  the  doctor.  "  That  is  Mr. 
Trafford." 

"  I  had  forgotten  him,"  she  said,  quiet- 
ly. "Yes,  he  is  kind,  but  it  is  only  the 
kindness  of  a  stranger.  He  has  nothing 
to  do  with  my  life." 

Despite  her  anxiety,  her  recovery  was 
slow;  and  during  those  long  hours  she 
lay  for  the  most  part  with  idle  hands, 
gazing  out  of  the  open  window  at  the 
green  boughs  forming  a  network  against 
the  blue  sky — boughs  in  which  the  un- 
numbered sweet-voiced  birds  of  the  South 
sang  constantly. 

"  How  beautiful!  "  she  exclaimed,  one 
day,  when  a  mocking-bird  had  been  pour- 


ing forth  a  tide  of  melody.  "  I  wonder 
if  I  can  sing  as  well  as  that?  I  think  I 
can.  The  doctor  says  I  must  not  strain 
my  throat ;  but  it  is  quite  well  now,  and 
there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not  sing." 

"  Mrs.  Crenshaw  says  she  don't  expect 
you'll  ever  be  able  to  sing  any  more, 
Amy,"  said  Mariette,  who  was  in  the 
room. 

Amy  started  as  if  she  had  been  struck. 
The  idea  of  any  injury  to  her  voice  had 
not  occurred  to  her,  and  the  suggestion 
was  like  a  dart  of  fire. 

Her  hand  instinctively  went  to  her 
throat.  "What  if  it  should  be  so  ?  Was 
there  any  limit  to  the  cruelty  of  Fate  ? 
Might  not  this  power — her  last  plank  in 
the  midst  of  shipwreck — be  taken  from 
her,  as  everything  else  had  been  ? 

This  thought  was  so  appalling  that 
she  was  literally  unable  to  utter  a  word. 
Every  hope  and  ambition  for  the  future 
centred  in  her  voice.  If  that  was  lost, 
or  injured,  what  weapon  was  left  her 
with  which  to  fight  the  world  ? 

"0  Heaven!  if  my  voice  is  lost,  let 
me  die !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  the  agony  of 
her  fear;  but,  fortunately  for  us,  such 
prayers  as  these  are  seldom  granted. 

The  next  day,  unable  to  endure  the 
torture  any  longer,  she  waited  until  Clara 
had  put  the  room  in  order,  placed  her  in 
a  large  chair  before  the  window,  where  of 
late  she  had  been  able  to  sit,  and  had 
finally  gone  away ;  then  she  clasped  her 
white,  thin  hands  tightly  together,  like 
one  in  the  act  of  prayer,  and  opened  her 
lips  to  sing.  At  first  she  failed  to  make  a 
sound,  but  saying  to  herself,  "  I  am  ner- 
vous ;  that  is  what  is  the  matter !  "  she 
made  another  effort. 

The  notes  which  she  strove  to  utter 
came  then,  but  so  harsh,  so  flat,  so  utterly 
unlike  what  they  had  ever  been  before, 
that  she  paused  in  dismay ;  and  at  this 
moment  the  door  opened,  and  Clara  ush- 
ered the  doctor  in. 

He  was  a  little  startled  to  see  his  pa- 
tient rise  from  her  chair  and  advance 
toward  him,  looking  more  like  a  spirit 


100 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


than  a  woman  in  her  loose  white  drapery, 
with  her  great  eyes  shining  out  of  her 
hollow  face,  and  one  hand  grasping  her 
throat. 

"  Tell  me !  "  she  cried  out  passionately. 
"  Has  it  gone  forever  ? — have  I  lost  my 
voice  ?  " 

The  doctor  changed  color,  and  glanced 
sternly  at  Clara. 

"I  thought  I  told  you  not  to  let  her 
sing!  "  he  said. 

"  I  didn't  know — "  Clara  began,  in 
self-defense,  when  Amy  interrupted : 

"How  could  she  prevent  my  singing, 
if  I  chose  to  do  so  ? — and  I  did  choose  to 
test  my  voice.  I  can  do  nothing  with 
it  now — but  will  it  recover  its  power? 
Don't  trifle  with  me !  "  she  cried,  as  she 
saw  hesitation  on  his  face.  "  I  want  the 
truth,  and  I — I  am  strong  enough  to  bear 
it." 

"I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  the 
doctor,  gravely.  "  This  excitement  is  too 
much  for  you,  I  am  sure.  Sit  down. 
Let  me  feel  your  pulse." 

Amy  sank  again  into  her  chair,  because 
she  was  unable  to  stand,  but  she  drew 
her  wrist  impatiently  away  from  him. 

"  I  care  for  nothing  but  my  voice," 
she  said.  "  Nothing  else  matters.  Tell 
me  the  truth  about  that !  " 

"  My  poor  child,  I  fear  that  your  voice 
will  never  again  be  what  it  has  been,"  he 
answered,  with  sincere  compassion  in  his 
tones.  "I  would  have  spared  you  the 
knowledge  of  this  until  you  were  stronger, 
but  since  you  insist — " 

He  stopped,  for  her  face  was  growing 
whiter  under  his  gaze,  her  eyes  dilating 
with  an  expression  which  he  never  forgot. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  she  said,  "  that  I  can 
never  sing  in  public  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  likely  that  you  will  ever  be 
able  to  do  so,"  he  replied,  feeling  that  he 
had  no  right  to  withhold  the  truth  from 
one  who  so  earnestly  desired  to  know  it. 
"The  organs  of  your  throat  are,  I  fear, 
hopelessly  injured." 

She  looked  at  him  for  one  moment 
with  a  wild  appeal  in  her  eyes  against 


certainty.  Then  her  head  sank  back,  her 
lids  fell.  Unconsciousness  followed  this 
last,  crushing  blow. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  I  WILL  HOLD  YOTJR   HAND  BUT   AS   LONG 
AS   ALL  MAY." 

WHEN  Brian  Marchmont  left  the 
grounds  of  Cedarwood  on  the  night  of 
the  fete,  he  was  tingling  in  every  nerve 
with  that  sense  of  defeat  and  mortifica- 
tion which  of  all  sensations  is  the  most 
intolerable  to  a  man  of  his  stamp.  Added 
to  this,  he  was  so  bitterly  wroth  with  the 
folly  which  had  placed  him  in  such  a 
position,  that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  turned  savagely  upon  himself. 

"I  deserve  it  all,"  he  thought,  "for 
the  absolute  insanity  of  which  I  have 
been  guilty !  If  I  were  twenty,  the  thing 
would  bear  a  different  aspect,  but  at  my 
age,  with  my  knowledge  of  the  world,  my 
clearly-defined  objects  in  life,  to  peril  and 
lose  so  much  for  the  sake  of  an  insignifi- 
cant girl,  there  is  no  excuse  for  me — none ! 
By  Heaven  I  I  could  almost  sentence  my- 
self to  a  strait-waistcoat,  when  I  think  of 
the  madness  with  which  I  have  walked 
into  the  net  spread  by  that  fellow  Archer. 
I  know  that  he  has  been  spying  upon  me 
from  the  first.  I  now  feel  sure  that  Amy 
was  right,  that  evening  on  the  creek, 
when  she  said  the  man  on  the  opposite 
bank  was  he.  Then,  that  infernal  minia- 
ture— how  can  I  possibly  put  the  facts  he 
has  distorted  in  their  true  light  ?  It  may 
be  impossible  to  do  so ;  but,  at  least,  he 
shall  pay  dearly  for  his  interference." 

Nor  was  this  any  vaporing  threat,  any 
idle  menace  born  of  anger.  Sybarite  and 
epicurean  though  Marchmont  was,  these 
qualities  lay  merely  on  the  surface,  while 
underneath  was  a  nature  possessing  strong 
passions,  and  capable  of  resolute  and  de- 
termined action  when  those  passions  were 
roused. 

The  next  morning  he  amazed  Edward 


"I  WILL  HOLD  YOUR  HAND  BUT  AS  LONG  AS  ALL  MAY." 


101 


Lathrop  by  requesting  him  to  bear  a 
challenge  to  Archer.  That  young  gen- 
tleman took  the  cigar  he  was  smoking 
from  his  lips,  and  stared  at  his  cousin  as 
if  he  thought  sudden  lunacy  had  over- 
taken him. 

"Archer!"  he  repeated.  "Why, 
there  isn't  a  more  inoffensive  fellow  than 
Archer  in  existence !  You  are  surely  not 
in  earnest,  Brian? " 

"  Am  I  likely  to  jest  on  such  a  sub- 
ject? "  asked  Marchmont,  with  stern  im- 
patience. "  Inoffensive !  A  snake  may 
be  inoffensive  till  it  turns  and  strikes  one ; 
but  no  wise  man  will  spare  it  after  that." 

"  At  least,"  said  the  other,  more  grave- 
ly, "you  cannot  expect  me  to  act  for  you 
unless  you  give  me  some  idea  of  the  cause 
of  the  difficulty." 

"  That  is  easily  given,"  answered 
Marchmont.  "  The  fellow  has  made  him- 
self a  spy  upon  my  conduct  for  some  time 
past — has  interfered  in  the  most  insolent 
manner  in  my  affairs — and  has  finally 
been  successful  in  producing  an  estrange- 
ment between  Miss  Waldron  and  myself." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Lathrop.  He  began 
to  comprehend  the  gravity  of  the  situa- 
tion, and  his  own  countenance  reflected 
it.  "  I  should  not  have  suspected  Archer 
of  such  a  thing,"  he  said.  "I  thought 
him  a  man  of  honor.  Are  you  sure  there 
is  no  mistake  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  possible  room  for  mis- 
take," replied  Marchmont.  "  The  object 
he  has  in  view  is  to  marry  Miss  Waldron ; 
I  knew  that  the  first  time  I  ever  saw 
him,  but  it  is  an  object  he  shall  not 
achieve.  Unfortunately,  it  is  out  of  my 
power  to  fight  with  such  weapons  as  he 
has  used,  but  pistols  are  no  bad  substi- 
tute." 

"  By  Jove!  "  said  Lathrop,  lifting  his 
hand  and  pulling  his  mustache. 

The  tone  in  which  Marchmont  uttered 
the  last  words,  and  the  flash  like  blue 
steel  from  his  eyes  which  accompanied 
them,  made  it  unmistakably  plain  that 
affairs  were  very  serious  indeed.  No 
man  entertained  a  more  rooted  aversion 


to  unpleasant  things  than  Lathrop,  and 
up  to  this  point  in  his  career  he  had  man- 
aged to  keep  clear  of  them  ;  but  he  felt 
that  he  could  not  refuse  to  stand  by  his 
cousin,  however  disagreeable  the  conse- 
quences might  be. 

u  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry,  for  this,"  he 
said,  presently ;  "  but,  of  course,  I  will 
go  to  Archer  if  you  insist  upon  it.  Per- 
haps he  may  be  able  to  make  some  ex- 
planation, to  offer  some  apology — " 

"There  is  no  possibility  of  such  a 
thing,"  Marchmont  interrupted.  "  I  don't 
think  he  is  likely  to  refuse  to  fight.  If 
he  does,  I  shall  know  how  to  deal  with 
him.  Last  night  he  said  that,  if  I  desired 
to  hold  him  to  account,  I  knew  where  he 
was  to  be  found." 

"If  he  said  that,  he  is  not  likely  to 
refuse  to  fight.  But  it  is  a  most  unfor- 
tunate affair,  and  will  cause  an  immense 
amount  of  talk,"  said  Lathrop,  who  now 
devoutly  wished  that  Marchmont  was 
some  other  man's  cousin  and  guest. 

Notwithstanding  his  reluctance,  he 
bore  the  challenge  to  Archer,  who  re- 
ceived it  without  surprise. 

"Mr.  Marchmont  would  be  wiser  if 
he  accepted  the  consequences  of  his  con- 
duct without  calling  attention  to  it,"  he 
said,  quietly ;  "  but  that  is  altogether  his 
own  affair.  If  he  chooses  to  hold  me 
accountable  for  the  part  I  have  played,  I 
am  willing  to  afford  him  satisfaction." 

"I  know  only  what  my  cousin  has 
told  me  of  the  matter,"  said  Lathrop, 
who  began  to  feel  more  and  more  that  he 
was  engaged  in  a  very  unpleasant  thing ; 
"  but  from  my  personal  regard  for  your 
character,  Mr.  Archer,  I  hoped  that  some 
amicable  settlement  might  be  made." 

"  I  regret  that  no  proposal  of  the  kind 
can  come  from  me,"  said  Archer.  "  Mr. 
Marchmont  asserts  that  I  have  interfered 
in  his  private  affairs  in  an  unjustifiable 
manner.  I  acknowledge  the  fact  of  in- 
terference, but  hold  that  every  man  is 
justified  in  endeavoring  to  unmask  a  scoun- 
drel. I  have,  however,  no  intention  of 
shirking  the  consequences  of  my  acts.  If 


102 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


Mr.  Marchmont  wishes  to  fight,  I  am 
ready  to  meet  him  when  and  wherever  he 
likes." 

"You  are  a  very  impracticable  and 
belligerent  pair!  "  said  Lathrop,  in  a  tone 
of  disgusted  annoyance.  "  I  have  always 
believed  that,  if  the  principals  were  reason- 
able, such  affairs  as  this  could  be  arranged 
without  difficulty ;  but,  when  the  princi- 
pals are  not  reasonable,  there  is  evidently 
nothing  to  be  done  but  to  load  the  pistols. 
Of  course,  you  will  refer  me  to  some 
friend,  Mr.  Archer?  " 

"I  have  not  thought  of  it,"  replied 
Archer;  "but  I  will  endeavor  to  find 
some  one  to  fill  the  position,  and  send  him 
to  you  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours." 

In  the  course  of  a  few  hours  Mr.  Arch- 
er's friend  waited  upon  Mr.  Lathrop, 
and  all  details  of  the  affair  were  settled. 
.  The  meeting  was  arranged  to  take 
place  the  next  morning,  at  a  secluded 
place  about  a  mile  beyond  the  outskirts 
of  Edgerton,  and  both  parties  agreed  to 
keep  the  matter  as  quiet  as  possible. 

For  once  this  was  done.  No  hint  or 
rumor  that  a  duel  was  impending  electri- 
fied Edgerton  as  the  day  wore  on — that 
day  which  Amy  spent  in  watching  by 
Felix's  bedside;  which  Miss  Waldron 
spent  in  her  chamber  at  Cedarwood,  with 
what  her  maid  reported  to  be  a  "  splitting 
headache ;  "  which  Marchmont  spent  in 
the  Lathrop  smoking-room,  with  a  French 
novel  for  a  companion ;  and  which  Arch- 
er, with  a  distinct  knowledge  of  the  dan- 
ger before  him,  spent  in  his  usual  tread- 
mill of  business.  \ 

As  evening  began  to  close  he  threw 
aside  the  pen  with  which  he  had  been  oc- 
cupied all  day,  and,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  looked  out  of  the  window  at  which 
he  sat. 

Although  his  office  was  in  the  midst 
of  buildings,  it  chanced  that  this  window 
commanded  a  glimpse  of  the  sky — a 
glimpse  that  was  often  like  a  vesper  to  him 
at  the  end  of  a  weary  day. 

Just  now  the  sky  was  flushed  with  the 
divinest  beauties  of  sunset.  Heaven  it- 


self seemed  opening  where  the  splendor 
burned  in  masses  of  saffron  and  rose,  of 
violet  and  vivid  gold.  Green  boughs, 
drooping  with  heavy  foliage,  interlaced 
across  it,  but  the  glory  shone  through, 
and  fell  on  the  worn  face  of  the  young 
man,  whose  quiet,  rather  sombre  eyes 
were  turned  toward  it.  Was  he  thinking 
whether  he  should  ever  look  on  it  again  ? 
If  so,  he  gave  no  sign  of  such  a  thought ; 
but,  hearing  a  clock  in  the  neighborhood 
strike  seven,  he  rose,  put  away  his  papers, 
locked  his  safe,  and  went  out. 

The  evening  was  rarely  beautiful — one 
of  those  lovely,  fragrant  evenings  of  May, 
when  the  earth  is  so  fair  that  day  seems 
loath  to  leave  it ;  and,  as  Archer  felt  tho 
delicious  sweetness  and  softness  of  tho 
air  on  his  face,  almost  unconsciously  he 
turned  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  Cedar- 
wood. 

"I  shall  not  go  in,"  he  thought  in 
apology  for  this  act  of  weakness.  "I 
shall  only  look  at  the  place,  and  if  possi- 
ble catch  a  glimpse  of  her — for  the  last 
time,  perhaps." 

So,  leaving  the  dusty  streets  behind, 
he  took  his  way  over  the  dewy,  sweet- 
smelling  fields  which  spread  out  like  green 
velvet  in  the  twilight,  facing  the  pomp  of 
sunset  now  burning  faint  and  fainter  in 
the  far  west,  while  a  golden  planet  shone 
in  the  softly-tinted  sky  above. 

When  he  reached  the  small  gate  giv- 
ing admittance  to  Cedarwood,  he  paused, 
and,  resting  one  arm  on  it,  stood  for  sev- 
eral minutes  motionless.  Koses  were 
clustering  above  and  around  him,  exhal- 
ing their  sweet  incense  on  the  air;  a 
mocking-bird  was  singing  in  an  oak-tree 
near  by,  as  if  it  would  fain  ravish  the 
world  with  melody ;  but  he  needed 
neither  perfume  nor  full-throated  song. 
His  eyes  swept  over  the  lawn  to  where 
the  house  stood,  with  lights  gleaming 
here  and  there  from  its  wide-open  doors 
and  windows. 

Surely  her  figure  would  pass  across 
one  of  these  windows — surely  his  passion- 
ate desire  to  obtain  a  glimpse— only  a 


"I   WILL  HOLD   YOUR  HAND  BUT  AS  LONG  AS  ALL  MAY." 


103 


glimpse — of  her,  would  be  gratified! 
This  desire  seemed  to  grow  in  strength 
from  his  very  nearness ;  so  that  he  was 
forced  to  constrain  himself  to  resist  the 
impulse  to  go  forward  at  all  cost  and  see 
her,  look  into  her  eyes,  touch  her  hand 
once  more — for  the  last  time,  perhaps. 

He  had  bared  his  head  to  the  soft 
breeze  blowing  out  of  the1  golden  west ; 
and  as  he  stood  framed  by  the  roses,  with 
his  yearning  gaze  bent  on  the  house,  the 
manly  figure,  the  strong,  earnest  face, 
made  a  picture  worth  noting — worth  adT 
miring,  indeed. 

Beatrix  "Waldron  thought  so,  as,  in 
the  course  of  an  idle  stroll  around  the 
lawn,  she  suddenly  came  in  sight  of  the 
wicket-gate  and  paused,  surprised  by  the 
appearance  of  Archer.  At  first  she 
thought  that  he  was  simply  on  his  way 
to  the  house ;  but  when  she  saw  the  im- 
mobility of  his  attitude,  and  observed  the 
intent,  unchanging  gaze,  surprise  merged 
into  curiosity.  She  lingered  in  the  shade, 
watching  him,  for  some  time ;  but  he  did 
not  move,  and  she  was  obliged  at  last  to 
come  forward. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Archer,"  she 
said,  and  the  unexpected  sound  of  the 
full,  rich  voice  made  him  start.  "May  I 
ask  what  there  is  in  the  appearance  of 
Cedarwood  whicli  seems  to  fascinate  and 
yet  repel  you?  I  have  been  watching 
you  for  several  minutes,  and  you  have 
not  stirred  an  inch,  or  taken  your  eyes 
once  from  the  house." 

"  Is  it  possible  you  have  been  watch- 
ing me?  "asked  Archer,  coloring.  "  It 
is  a  little  odd  that  I  should  not  have  felt 
it ;  there  is  usually  so  much  magnetism 
in  the  gaze." 

"You  were  so  absorbed  in  thought, 
that  even  magnetism  was  unable  to  affect 
you.  I  should  not  think  you  would  be 
a  good  subject  for  mesmerism." 

"I  am  very  sure  I  should  not," he  an- 
swered, looking  at  her  with  a  sense  of 
pleasure,  the  expression  of  which  he  vain- 
ly strove  to  repress  from  his  tone  and 
glance.  Was  it  because  he  thought  that 


he  might  never  see  her  £ace  again,  that 
it  appeared  to  him  so  fair  just  now? 
"Blessed  be  God  who  has  made  beautiful 
women,"  say  the  Arabs,  and  he  could 
have  echoed  the  benediction,  as  Beatrix 
stood  in  the  lovely  half-light  of  the  gloam- 
ing, her  graceful  figure  outlined  by  the 
dusky  shade  from  which  she  had  emerged, 
her  stately  head  bare,  her  face  more 
cameo-like  than  ever  in  its  paleness — that 
soft  brunette  paleness  which  contrasts  so 
effectively  with  dark  eyes  and  hair, 

"  Have  you  come  to  inquire  how  we 
have  survived  the  affair  of  last  night?" 
she  asked.  "  I  have  had  a  severe  head- 
ache all  day ;  but  after  dinner  I  came 
out  to  see  if  the  fresh  air  would  not  help 
me,  and  it  has  done  so.  I  don't  want  to 
be  ungrateful  to  papa,  but  I  hardly  think 
I  shall  ever  consent  to  give  another  ball." 

"  I  should  not  imagine  that  there  was 
any  pleasure  in  it,"  he  said,  not  thinking 
at  all  of  what  he  was  saying — only  think- 
ing of  her,  and  of  the  difficulty  of  tearing 
himself  away,  now  that  he  had  obtained 
even  more  than  the  glimpse  he  had  de- 
sired. 

Feeling  the  abstraction  of  his  manner, 
she  glanced  at  him  in  some  surprise. 

"Are  you  not  coming  in?  "  she  asked. 
"Papa is  always  glad  to  see  you,  and  I — 
though  I  am  very  stupid — I  can  at  least 
give  you  a  cup  of  coffee." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  said,  hesita- 
tingly ;  "  but  I  did  not  mean  to  come  in. 
I  was  sure  you  would  not  feel  like  being 
annoyed  by  visitors  to-night." 

"Not  by  ordinary  visitors,"  she  an- 
swered, with  her  peculiar  frankness ; 
"but  I  consider  you  very  much  as  ami 
de  la  maison.  Come  and  be  bored,"  she 
said,  with  a  smile.  "I  cannot  allow  you 
to  stand  and  look  over  the  gate  and  then 
go  away." 

The  invitation  of  her  voice  and  man- 
ner was  more  than  Archer  could  resist. 
"For  the  last  time,  perhaps,"  he  said  to 
himself  again,  and  opened  the  gate. 

They  slowly  strolled  across  the  lawn, 
the  incense  of  flowers  and  the  sweet  notes 


104 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


of  birds  making  the  twilight  delicious, 
and  entered  the  drawing-rooin  through 
one  of  the  windows. 

Here  they  found  General  Waldron, 
walking  up  and  down  with  his  hands  be- 
hind his  back. 

"  Good-evening,  Archer,"  he  said, 
brightening  visibly.  "I  am  glad  to  see 
you.  Beatrix,  I  have  been  waiting  for  you 
to  come  in  and  give  me  a  cup  of  coffee." 

"Mr.  Archer  detained  me,  papa,"  said 
Beatrix.  "I  found  him  leaning  over  the 
gate,  and  it  was  some  time  before  I  could 
prevail  upon  him  to  advance  any  farther. 
But,  considering  the  dew  unwholesome, 
I  thought  it  best  to  bring  him  in  for  a 
cup  of  coffee." 

"Let  us  have  it  at  once,"  said  the 
general,  ringing  the  bell. 

The  coffee  was  brought,  and,  having 
made  Archer  confess  that  he  had  not 
been  to  supper,  Miss  "Waldron  ordered 
some  for  him. 

The  general  joined  in  doing  justice  to 
this  repast,  while  Beatrix  sat  by  in  a  low 
easy-chair  with  her  coffee-cup  in  her  hand 
— an  indolent,  graceful  figure,  with  one 
slender,  arched  foot  uncovered  by  the 
flowing  sweep  of  her  drapery,  and  the 
light  catching  the  whitenese  of  her  throat, 
the  glimmer  of  gold  around  her  wrists, 
and  a  fragrant  yellow  rose  drooping 
among  the  dark  braids  of  her  hair. 

As  was  natural  under  the  circum- 
stances, they  talked  of  the  entertainment 
of  the  evening  before,  of  the  toilets  and  the 
flirtations,  of  the  concert  and  its  sucess. 

"Edgerton  will  some  day  be  very 
proud  of  the  fact  that  Amy  Reynolds 
made  her  debut  here,"  said  Miss  "Waldron. 

"She  has  a  magnificent  voice,"  said 
Archer.  "  I  had  heard  a  good  many  ru- 
mors about  it,  but  I  paid  little  attention 
to  them,  knowing  how  prone  to  exagger- 
ation the  popular  judgment  is." 

"  I  suppose  her  father  intends  her  for 
the  stage,"  said  the  general. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Beatrix.  Then  she 
added,  with  a  sigh,  "  Poor  little  Amy!  " 

"Is  there  any  need  to  pity  her?" 


asked  the  general,  with  some  surprise. 
"A  petted,  popular  prima-donna  is  one 
of  the  most  enviable  people  in  the  world 
— as  the  world  goes." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Beatrix; 
"but  I  was  not  thinking  of  her  public 
career  when  I  spoke.  I  am  sorry  for  her 
for  other  reasons." 

"  She  does  not  look  as  if  she  was  an 
object  for  compassion  in  any  way,"  said 
General  Waldron,  recalling  the  Psyche- 
like  figure,  the  radiant,  triumph-flushed 
face  of  the  night  before. 

Beatrix  glanced  at  Archer,  and,  as 
their  eyes  met,  the  expression  of  his 
brought  a  flush  to  her  cheek.  It  was  an 
earnest,  interrogative  expression,  which 
she  imagined  that  she  understood,  and 
which  she  resented  a  little. 

"How  dare  he  imagine  that  I  have 
suffered  by  the  treachery  of  that  man? " 
she  thought ;  and,  rising,  she  moved  away 
to  where  the  piano  stood  open,  with  its 
ivory  keyboard  gleaming  in  the  subdued- 
lamplight. 

"Shall  I  sing  for  you,  papa?"  she 
said ;  and,  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
she  sat  down  and  began  one  of  the  bal- 
lads that  the  general  loved. 

"When  it  ended  she  found  that  Archer 
had  crossed  the  floor  and  was  standing 
by  her. 

"  You  misunderstood  me,"  he  said,  in 
a  low  voice.  "I  saw  that  in  your  face. 
I  was  thinking  something  very  different 
from  what  you  suppose.  I  was  wonder- 
ing— since  you  are  generous  enough  to 
be  sorry  for  that  foolish  girl — whether 
you  would  be  sorry  for  some  one  else 
under  other  circumstances." 

"  You  talk  in  enigmas,"  she  said,  look- 
ing at  her  hands,  which  were  modulating 
a  succession  of  soft  chords.  "  "Whether  I 
was  sorry  or  not,  would  depend  upon 
how  much  sympathy  or  compassion  '  some 
one  else '  deserved.  I  am  sorry  for  that 
poor  girl,  foolish  as  she  has  been.  I  am 
sure  she  is  suffering — and  one  can  suffer 
very  keenly  at  sixteen." 

"Very  superficially,  as  a  rule;    but 


"I  WILL  HOLD  YOUR  HAND  BUT  AS  LONG  AS  ALL  MAY." 


105 


that  does  not  matter.  An  aching  finger 
is  bad,  if  one  has  never  known  anything 
worse." 

"  And  an  aching  heart  is  never  matter 
for  a  sneer,"  said  she,  glancing  up  at  him. 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  sneer  at 
it ! "  he  said,  with  an  earnestness  which 
impressed  her.  "  You  surely  did  not  think 
that  I  meant  to  do  so  ?  I  only  thank  God 
that  it  is  not  your  heart  which  is  aching," 
he  went  on,  quickly.  "  I  was  afraid — 
very  much  afraid — that  you  might  care 
for  that  man  enough  to  suffer  from  the 
knowledge  of  his  treachery." 

"Fortunately,  my  heart  is  not  easily 
touched,"  she  said,  still  playing  softly. 
"  I  have  been  provoked  with  my  insensi- 
bility once  or  twice ;  bat  I  suppose  it  is 
for  the  best : 

'  Some  there  are  that  shadows  kiss, 
Some  have  but  a  shadow's  bliss,' 

and  are  content.  I  could  not  be.  I  can 
live  without  gold,  but  I  cannot — I  will 
not — accept  tinsel  for  it." 

"  Yet  there  is  gold  in  the  world,"  he 
said,  half  unconsciously,  and  in  a  voice 
so  full  of  passion  that  Beatrix  suddenly 
started,  and,  instead  of  a  chord,  struck  a 
jarring  discord  from  the  keys  on  which 
her  fingers  rested. 

At  that  instant  Florence  Lathrop's 
warning — which  for  a  time  she  had  for- 
gotten— recurred  to  her  with  startling 
force.  Was  it  true  that  this  man  felt 
toward  her  as  a  lover  ?  Had  she  uncon- 
sciously made  discord  indeed  in  the  fair, 
well-ordered  purpose  of  his  life  ? 

"Perhaps  so,"  she  answered,  so  ab- 
sently and  constrainedly  that  Archer 
knew  he  had  betrayed  himself,  and  then 
she  glided  into  the  delicate  melody  of  one 
of  the  "  Songs  without  Words." 

He  stood  motionless  while  she  played 
it,  and  when  it  was  finished  he  said,  with 
his  usual  manner : 

"Although  this  is  very  pleasant,  I 
must  not  forget  that  you  are,  of  necessity, 
tired.  Let  me  thank  you  for  a  delightful 
evening,  and  say  good-night." 


Contrary  to  custom,  he  extended  his 
hand — extended  it  so  gravely  and  quietly, 
that  Beatrix  could  not  hesitate  to  place 
hers  in  it. 

For  an  instant — only  for  an  instant — 
he  held  it  in  a  close,  warm  grasp,  looking 
the  while  into  her  eyes  with  an  expres- 
sion she  afterward  remembered  and  com- 
prehended. Then,  again  saying  "Good- 
night," he  turned,  crossed  the  room, 
spoke  to  the  general,  and  went  away. 

The  next  morning,  when  Miss  Wai- 
dron  came  down  to  breakfast,  she  was 
surprised  to  find  her  father's  place  vacant 
and  her  father  gone.  She  glanced  with 
astonishment  at  his  coffee-cup  only  half 
emptied,  at  the  paper  thrown  aside  un- 
read, and  then  rang  the  bell  sharply. 

"  Where  is  your  master,  Price?  "  she 
said  to  the  servant  who  answered  it,  and 
who  had  a  startled  look  on  his  face. 

"  Master's  gone  into  town,  Miss  Bea- 
trix," answered  Price,  solemnly,  and  then 
paused  as  if  uncertain  whether  or  not  to 
say  more. 

"  Gone  into  town !  "  repeated  Beatrix. 
"Why,  he  has  not  taken  his  breakfast!  " 

"No,  m'm;  he  was  only  just  begin- 
ning it,"  assented  Price,  gravely. 

"  What  called  him  away  ? "  she  asked. 

Price's  face  grew  more  solemn,  but  it 
was  a  solemnity  mixed  with  pleasure — 
that  pleasure  which  all  people  of  his  class 
feel  in  being  the  first  to  tell  a  piece  of 
sensational  news. 

"  Master  was  just  beginnin'  his  break- 
fast," he  said,  "  when  he  heard  of  a  duel 
that's  been  fought  in  Edgerton.  Bob, 
what  brought  the  mail,  told  him;  and 
when  he  heard  that  Mr.  Archer  was  dead, 
or  dying,  he  went  right  off." 

Beatrix's  eyes  opened  wide  on  the 
speaker,  but,  with  an  effort  to  compose 
herself,  she  said,  quietly : 

"  Who  fought  the  duel — and  what  had 
Mr.  Archer  to  do  with  it?  There  is  some 
absurd  mistake — " 

"  Oh,  no,  m'm,  there  isn't ! "  inter- 
posed Price,  eagerly.  "  Mr.  Archer  fought 


106 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


the  duel — him  and  Mr.  Marchraont,  at 
daylight  this  morning — and  Bob  saw  them 
bringing  in  Mr.  Archer  in  a  carriage. 
He  wasn't  quite  dead  then,  but  they  said 
he  couldn't  live." 

Beatrix  sank  into  the  chair  by  which 
she  was  standing,  her  face  growing  white 
as  the  morning-dress  she  wore.  In  the 
terrible  shock  of  the  moment  her  heart 
almost  ceased  to  beat.  With  a  sudden 
flash  of  intuition  she  understood  every- 
thing. It  was  for  hia  interests  in  her 
affairs  that  Marchmont  had  held  Archer 
to  account,  and  that  the  latter  paid  so 
dearly !  As  the  thought  occurred  to  her, 
a  great  sense  of  passionate  indignation 
overmastered  every  other  consideration. 
"The  wretch!"  she  said,  between  her 
clinched  teeth.  "  How  dare  he  take  such 
a  revenge  as  this?" 

Then  she  looked  up  at  Price,  pale  as 
marble.  "  Take  a  horse  and  go  into  Edg- 
erton  at  once !  "  she  said.  "  Find  your 
master,  and  ask  him  to  send  me  word  ex- 
actly how  Mr.  Archer  is.  Don't  waste  a 
minute ;  go  and  return  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible." 

When  the  servant  was  gone  she  turned 
away  from  the  breakfast-table  with  that 
terrible  sickness  of  the  heart  which  un- 
nerves the  whole  body  and  sends  a  sen- 
sation of  deadly  faintness  to  the  very  tips 
of  the  fingers.  The  morning  was  exuber- 
antly bright  and  glorious — one  of  those 
mornings  of  mingled  spring  and  summer 
when  Nature  seems  rendering  joyous 
thanks  to  her  Creator  in  every  gleam 
of  sunshine,  every  matin  song  of  her 
feathered  choir.  But  to  Beatrix  there 
was  something  ghastly  in  all  this  bright- 
ness. With  earth  BO  fair  aronnd  and 
heaven  so  pure  above,  the  life  of  a  brave 
and  honorable  man  had  been  put  in  deadly 
peril — cut  short,  perhaps — because  he  had 
tried  to  save  her  from  deception  and  mis- 
ery. 

She  wandered  restlessly  into  the  draw- 
ing-room ;  but,  when  her  eyes  fell  on  the 
spot  where  he  had  bidden  her  farewell 
the  night  before,  a  great  throb  of  pain 


seized  her  heart;  she  suddenly  remem- 
bered the  wistful,  intent  gaze  with  which 
he  had  been  regarding  the  house  when 
she  found  him  at  the  gate.  "This  was 
what  it  meant !  "  she  cried.  "  And  I — 
how  cold,  how  constrained,  how  unsym- 
pathetic I  was ! " 

There  was  deep  wretchedness  in  such 
thoughts,  but  she  could  not  banish  them. 
She  left  the  drawing-room  and  walked 
restlessly  up  and  down  the  portico,  until 
at  last — after  what  seemed  an  intermi- 
nable length  of  time — Price  appeared  in 
sight  galloping  down  the  road. 

How  long  he  took  to  reach  the  gates ! 
— how  long  to  canter  up  the  avenue  to 
where  she  stood  on  the  steps,  shivering 
in  the  warm  sunshine ! 

Her  fingers  were  cold  as  ice,  and  trem- 
bling so  that  she  could  scarcely  control 
them,  when  she  took  the  note  he  brought 
and  tore  it  open.  This  was  what  the  gen- 
eral wrote : 

"  Archer  is  desperately  wounded,  and 
•the  doctors  seem  to  entertain  very  little 
hope  of  his  recovery.  He  is  shot  through 
the  lung,  and  it  is  surprising  that  he  was 
not  killed  outright.  Marchmont  is  un- 
hurt. Both  have  observed  great  reticence 
with  regard  to  the  cause  of  the  affair." 

The  paper  dropped  from  her  hand,  and 
she  stood  gazing  at  the  wide,  beautiful 
prospect  before  her.  Desperately  wound- 
ed!— and  that  for  no  fault  of  his  own, 
but  because  another  man  chose  to  be 
treacherous  and  dishonorable ! 

"  He  was  mad  to  meet  him !  "  she 
murmured,  half  aloud.  "  But,  if  he  dies, 
I  think  I  could  find  strength  to  kill  March- 
mont myself! " 


CHAPTER    XIX. 
"THE  THOBXS  i  BEAP  ABE  OF  THE  TBEE 

I  PLANTED." 

In  all  her  after-life  Beatrix  Waldron 
never  forgot  that  day — so  joyous  in  its 
beauty,  so  full  of  the  soft  whispering  of 


THE  THORNS  I  REAP  ARE  OF  THE  TREE  I  PLANTED." 


107 


leaves,  the  songs  of  birds,  the  multitudi- 
nous sweet  sounds  of  summer — when  she 
was  alone  at  Oedarwood  with  the  thought 
that  Archer  was  dying. 

The  great  empty  house  seemed  to  her 
strangely  hushed  and  silent,  and  even  the 
golden  glory  of  the  sunshine  in  her  imagi- 
nation was  full  of  pathos.  During  the 
long,  bright  hours  of  the  morning  she  wan- 
dered aimlessly  to  and  fro,  hoping  con- 
stantly that  her  father  would  return ;  but 
when  the  time  for  luncheon  came  there 
was  still  no  sign  of  him. 

Luncheon — at  least  the  pretense  of  it 
— being  over,  the  afternoon  waned  in 
mellow  loveliness,  but  still  the  general 
did  not  come.  As  hour  after  hour  passed, 
Beatrix's  impatience  and  anxiety  grew  al- 
most uncontrollable.  Once  she  ordered 
the  carriage,  but  countermanded  the  or- 
der before  the  horses  had  been  harnessed. 
She  longed  to  drive  into  Edgerton  and 
learn  exactly  how  matters  stood;  but  a 
fear  lest  her  name  might  be  more  closely 
associated  with  the  affair  than  she  knew 
deterred  her  from  doing  so.  If  it  should 
be  on  every  one's  lip— as  she  had  known 
other  women's  names  in  connection  with 
duels — she  felt  that  she  could  not  bear  to 
appear  and  run  the  gantlet  of  observa- 
tion which  is  leveled  upon  the  heroine  of 
such  tragedies. 

Neither  did  she  like  to  send  another 
message  to  her  father.  That  shadow  of 
propriety — that  question,  "  What  will  be 
thought  of  it  ?  "—which  stands  by  women 
in  all  hours  and  at  all  times  of  their  lives, 
made  her  hesitate  even  in  this.  "  After 
all,  why  should  I  be  in  so  much  haste? " 
she  said  to  herself.  "  If  the  news  is  bad, 
1  shall  hear  it  soon  enough.  If  it  is  good 
— but,  alas !  I  fear  there  is  little  hope  of 
that." 

As  this  thought  formed  in  her  mind, 
the  sound  of  wheels  and  horses'  feet  ad- 
vancing up  the  avenue  made  her  start. 
She  moved  hastily  to  the  window,  but,  in- 
stead of  the  barouche  which  had  been 
sent  for  her  father,  it  was  the  Lathrop 
carriage  which  drew  up  before  the  door. 


Surprise  was  her  predominant  sensa- 
tion on  recognizing  the  equipage — a  sur- 
prise which  was  not  lessened  by  the  fact 
that  Mrs.  Lathrop's  portly  figure  de- 
scended from  it.  At  sight  of  this  figure 
a  swift  wave  of  color  rose  into  Miss  Wal- 
dron's  pale  cheeks.  "Has  he  ventured  to 
send  her  here  ? "  she  thought,  as  she 
turned  from  the  window  and  walked 
across  the  room.  According  to  the  usual 
dilatory  habits  of  servants,  several  min- 
utes elapsed  before  the  visitor's  name  was 
brought  up,  and  these  minutes  Beatrix 
spent  at  her  mirror,  knowing  that  she 
could  not  afford  to  appear  in  any  discon- 
solate guise  before  the  keen  eyes  which 
awaited  her  below. 

She  was  quieter,  cooler,  rather  more 
stately  than  usual,  when  she  entered  the 
drawing-room ;  this  was  the  only  change 
that  Mrs.  Lathrop  perceived.  That  lady, 
however,  was  herself  very  much  shaken 
out  of  her  wonted  repose,  and  therefore 
not  altogether  possessed  of  her  usual  cool 
judgment.  Greetings  having  been  ex- 
changed, she  plunged  at  once  into  the  sub- 
ject which  occupied  her  thoughts. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  when  they  had 
seated  themselves,  "I  have  come  to  see 
you  chiefly  to  express  my  deep  regret  for 
this  most  unfortunate  affair." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Beatrix,  coldly, 
"  that  you  allude  to  the  duel  between  Mr. 
Marchmont  and  Mr.  Archer.  But  why 
should  you  come  to  me  to  express  your 
regret  with  regard  to  it  ?  " 

"  There  are  several  reasons  why  I  have 
felt  impelled  to  do  so,"  replied  Mrs.  La- 
throp, with  her  most  imposing  air.  "  In 
the  first  place,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  have 
never  in  my  life  been  so  mortified  and 
grieved  by  any  one  connected  with  me  as 
by  my  nephew,  Brian  Marchmont.  As 
far  as  I  can  learn,  there  is  no  excuse  for 
his  conduct,  and  I  am  deeply  provoked 
with  Edward  for  acting  as  his  second  in 
this  duel." 

"  There  is  certainly  no  excuse  for  his 
conduct,"  said  Beatrix.  "You  are  quite 
right  with  regard  to  that." 


108 


AFTER  MANY   DAYS. 


"It  is  probable  that  you  may  imag- 
ine," proceeded  Mrs.  Lathrop,  "  that  I 
have  been  anxious  for  the  success  of  his 
suit  with  you.  Such  a  conclusion  would 
be  a  natural  but  a  very  mistaken  one.  I 
have  never,  my  dear,  never  thought  that 
such  a  marriage  would  be  for  your  hap- 
piness ;  and  I  frankly  told  Brian  so  when 
I  remonstrated  with  him,  several  weeks 
ago,  on  his  flirtation  with  that  girl  Amy 
Keynolds." 

"  If  you  had  spoken  to  me  on  the  sub- 
ject," said  Beatrix,  in  the  same  cold,  even 
voice,  "I  might  have  set  your  mind  at 
rest  by  assuring  you  that  I  had  not  the 
least  intention  of  marrying  Mr.  March- 
mont.  I  am  sorry  that  I  ever  took  his 
suit  into  consideration ;  but  I  knew  little 
of  him  at  the  time,  and  it  seemed  only 
just  to  know  more  before  deciding 
finally." 

"  It  almost  appears  as  if  madness  pos- 
sessed him,"  said  Mrs.  Lathrop.  "To 
bring  rejection  on  himself,  as  I  said  to- 
day, and  then  to  resent  it  by  taking  an- 
other man's  life." 

"Is  Mr.  Archer  dead?"  asked  Bea- 
trix, quickly. 

Despite  her  self-control,  she  could  not 
repress  the  sudden  quiver  that  ran  over 
her  frame,  the  sudden  pallor  that  came 
to  her  face,  and  Mrs.  Lathrop  noted  both. 

"  He  was  not  dead  when  I  left  Edger- 
ton,"  she  replied,  "but  I  believe  the  doc- 
tors give  little  hope  of  his  recovery.  May 
I  ask,  my  dear — as  your  sincere  friend, 
and  with  a  view  to  contradicting  authori- 
tatively the  many  wild  rumors  that  are 
afloat — exactly  what  the  ground  of  quar- 
rel was  ?  I  have  heard — but  I  can  hard- 
ly believe  it — that  Mr.  Archer  was  your 
suitor." 

"He  was  not,"  said  Beatrix.  "He 
was  only  my  friend,  and  as  my  friend  he 
tried  to  serve  me.  Of  the  exact  ground 
of  quarrel  I  am  ignorant.  Though  Mr. 
Archer  was  here  last  night,"  she  went  on, 
with  her  voice  slightly  faltering,  "he 
said  nothing  of  the  affair,  and  hence  I 
know  no  more  concerning  it  than  you  do." 


"  Indeed !  "  said  Mrs.  Lathrop. 

This  astute  woman,  who  had  come  to 
Cedarwood  resolved  to  learn  all  that  was 
possible,  did  not  suffer  that  sign  of  falter- 
ing to  escape  her,  and,  regarding  Miss  Wal- 
dron  closely,  she  went  on : 

"  So  Mr.  Archer  was  here  last  night ! 
He  must  possess  remarkable  self-control, 
if  he  did  not  betray  any  sense  of  the 
danger  he  was  about  to  incur.  Neither 
Brian  nor  Edward  joined  our  family  circle 
yesterday  evening." 

"  Mr.  Archer  was  altogether  as  usual," 
answered  Beatrix,  briefly ;  but  as  she 
spoke  she  remembered  vividly  that  fare- 
well glance  which  she  now  so  well  under- 
stood. 

"With  regard  to  the  cause  of  the 
duel,"  said  Mrs.  Lathrop,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  "  it  is  the  general  impres- 
sion that  Brian  challenged  Mr.  Archer 
because  he  had  produced  an  estrangement 
between  him — that  is,  Brian — and  your- 
self." 

"He  did  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said 
Beatrix.  "The  idea  rests  on  an  entire 
misconception.  There  is  no  'estrange- 
ment '  between  your  nephew  and  myself, 
Mrs.  Lathrop.  I  simply  discovered — 
partly  through  Mr.  Archer,  partly  through 
others,  but  chiefly  through  circumstances 
— that,  while  professing  to  be  my  suitor, 
Mr.  Marchmont  was  making  love  to  an- 
other woman.  That,  in  itself,  apart 
from  his  other  dishonorable  conduct,  was 
enough  to  make  me  decline  any  further 
acquaintance  with  him." 

"  I  told  him  how  it  would  be,"  said 
Mrs.  Lathrop,  shaking  her  head.  "I 
warned  him  of  such  a  result  as  soon  as  I 
heard  of  that  affair  with  Amy  Keynolds." 

"I  would  rather  not  speak  of  the 
matter,"  said  Beatrix,  drawing  her  brows 
together.  "  It  all  seems  of  small  account 
just  now — of  horribly  small  account,  to 
cost  a  gallant  and  honorable  life." 

"Nevertheless,  we  have  to  think  of 
what  will  be  said,"  answered  the  veteran 
woman  of  the  world,  laying  her  hand 
impressively  on  her  companion's  arm. 


;THE  THORNS  I  REAP  ARE  OF  THE  TREE  I  PLANTED.' 


109 


"  Candidly,  my  dear,  it  would  be  better 
for  you  to  give  me  exactly  the  version  of 
the  affair  you  would  like  circulated.  We 
cannot  keep  people  from  talking,  so  the 
best  thing  to  do  is  to  give  them,  if  possi- 
ble, the  truth  to  talk  about." 

But  Beatrix,  who  felt  that  she  had 
borne  as  much  as  she  possibly  could,  made 
a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"  Let  them  talk  as  they  please,"  she 
said  ;  "  I  feel  absolutely  indifferent  to  any- 
thing they  can  say.  Pray  do  not  trouble 
me  any  further  with  the  subject,  Mrs. 
Lathrop.  It  is  at  once  painful  and  dis- 
agreeable." 

Mrs.  Lathrop,  whose  curiosity  and 
"managing  "  proclivities  had  seldom  been 
so  baffled,  would  have  liked  to  press  the 
matter  further,  but  there  was  something 
in  Miss  Waldron's  face  and  manner  which 
made  this  impossible;  so,  after  a  little 
constrained  and  desultory  conversation, 
she  rose  and  took  leave. 

As  her  carriage  was  driving  out  of 
the  grounds,  the  general's  long-expected 
barouche  entered  the  gates,  and  Beatrix 
had  the  trial  of  standing  at  the  drawing- 
room  window  for  fully  ten  minutes, 
watching  the  two  equipages  standing 
abreast  while  their  occupants  talked. 

Few  things  are  more  trying  to  nerves 
and  temper  than  such  waiting  for  news 
as  this,  while  the  bearer  of  it  is  within 
sight ;  and  Beatrix  could  have  condemned 
Mrs.  Lathrop  to  silence  for  a  year  before 
that  lady  finally  drove  off. 

"When  the  general  reached  the  portico, 
he  found  his  daughter  waiting  for  him, 
with  an  appealing  look  of  anxiety  in  her 
eyes. 

Her  first  words  were  a  question. 

"  How  is  he,  papa  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No  better,"  answered  her  father, 
who  was  deliberately  alighting ;  "  but,  I 
am  glad  to  say,  no  worse.  The  doctors 
don't  give  much  hope,  but  it  is  my  opin- 
ion he  may  get  well.  He  has  a  good 
constitution  to  fall  back  upon,  and  I  have 
known  men  more  seriously  wounded  to 
recover." 


"Oh,  thank  you,  papa;  it  is  pleasant 
to  hear  something  encouraging  at  last! 
"Why  didn't  you  come  back  sooner?  I 
have  been  so  lonely  and  wretched  all 
day!" 

"  "Well,  I  did  not  like  to  leave  the  poor 
fellow.  He  has  few  friends,  you  know, 
and  this  morning  the  doctors  thought  he 
might  die  at  any  time.  He  was  a  fool  to 
meet  that  puppy  Marchmont ;  but,  after 
all,"  said  the  gentleman  of  the  old  regime, 
"  it  is  a  good  thing  to  err  on  the  side  of 
courage." 

"He  was  worse  than  foolish — he  was 
wrong,  to  meet  him !  "  said  Beatrix. 

"Eh?  was  he?"  said  her  father. 
"  From  what  I  hear,  I  imagine  that  you 
know  more  of  it  than  any  one  else ;  and 
I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  tell  me  all  that 
you  know,  after  a  while." 

After  a  while,  therefore,  Beatrix  com- 
plied with  this  request,  and  for  the  first 
time  the  general  heard  of  the  dishonor- 
able conduct  of  the  man  who  had  aspired 
to  be  his  son-in-law.  His  wrath  was  deep 
and  loud. 

"  The  scoundrel !  "  he  said,  twisting 
his  white  mustache  vehemently.  "He 
has  not  the  faintest  claim  to  be  esteemed 
a  gentleman !  No  schoolboy  of  average 
honor  would  have  held  his  tongue  about 
the  miniature  and  allowed  that  poor  boy 
to  suffer.  As  for  his  conduct  to  you,  it 
is  difficult  to  characterize  that  as  it  de- 
serves ! " 

"  Fortunately  I  cared  nothing  for  him," 
said  Beatrix,  "  so  it  did  not  matter.  But 
it  is  cowardly  to  strike  at  me  through  my 
friends." 

"  It  is  more  than  cowardly — it  is  in- 
famous !  "  said  the  general,  "  and  if  Arch- 
er dies,  I  shall  feel  inclined  to  try  my 
hand  at  shooting.  By  Jove!  I  don't 
wonder  he  could  not  refuse  the  challenge. 
I  should  like  a  crack  at  the  fellow  my- 
self." 

"  The  result  has  not  been  very  satis- 
factory, so  far  as  Mr.  Archer  is  con- 
cerned," said  Beatrix. 

The  next  day  the  news  from  Archer 


no 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


was  very  much  of  the  same  character,  al- 
though the  doctors  expressed  a  little  more 
hope. 

It  was  in  the  course  of  this  day  that 
Miss  Waldron  was  shocked  to  hear  of  the 
sudden  death  of  Felix  Reynolds,  and  she 
drove  at  once  into  Edgerton  to  offer  her 
sympathy  and  condolence. 

At  the  house  of  the  musician  she  saw 
only  Mr.  Trafford,  and  heard  from  him  of 
Amy's  illness  and  Mr.  Reynolds's  despair. 

"How  often  a  narrow  step  alone  di- 
vides brightest  pleasure  from  deepest 
pain !  "  she  said.  "  Do  you  remember  the 
joy  and  pride  of  Mr.  Reynolds's  face  when 
Felix  was  playing  on  the  night  of  the 
fete  ?  And  poor  Amy !  her  triumph  was 
turned  to  bitterness  even  before  this 
came.  I  am  so  very  sorry  for  her !  If  I 
can  do  anything,  Mr.  Trafford,  pray  let 
me  know — anything,  I  mean,  in  the  way 
of  assistance." 

"You  are  very  kind,  my  dear  young 
lady,"  said  Mr.  Trafford,  "and  I  will  cer- 
tainly call  upon  you  if  there  is  any  need 
to  do  so.  I  sincerely  hope  that  Mr. 
Archer  may  recover,"  he  went  on,  look- 
ing at  her  with  a  certain  friendly  keen- 
ness, "and  I  believe  he  will.  I  saw 
him  this  morning,  and  I  do  not  think  he 
has  any  appearance  of  a  man  who  means 
to  die." 

"I  hope  not,1'  said  Beatrix.  Then, 
with  a  few  more  expressions  of  kindly 
interest,  she  went  away. 

As  she  was  entering  the  carriage,  Hugh 
Dinsmore  approached  the  house,  and, 
when  she  beckoned  him  to  her  side,  she 
was  struck  by  the  haggard  paleness  of  his 
face. 

"I  know  this  is  a  grief  to  you,"  she 
said,  gently.  "Felix  was  to  have  been 
your  traveling  companion — was  he  not  ? " 

Hugh's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  Felix 
has  been  my  companion  always,"  he  said, 
"  and  it  added  to  my  happiness,  in  the 
thought  of  going  abroad,  that  I  was  to 
be  with  him — that  we  could  go  together 
and  become  artists,  as  we  had  so  often 
dreamed  of  doing.  Now — " 


"  It  is  very  sad,"  said  Miss  Waldron, 
as  his  voice  faltered  and  ceased;  "but 
remember  that  the  friends  whom  death 
takes  we  possess  in  a  measure  still ;  at 
least,  nothing  can  dim  or  mar  their  mem- 
ory. Those  whom  life  takes  from  us,  on 
the  contrary,  we  lose  utterly.  If  Felix 
had  lived,  you  might  have  lost  him,  some 
day,  in  a  wo~se  manner  than  this.  Try 
and  let  that  thought  comfort  you.  Will 
you  come  out  to  Cedarwood  as  soon  as 
possible  ? "  she  added.  "  Papa  wishes  to 
make  some  arrangements  about  your  jour- 
ney." 

"  There  would  be  no  good  in  my  com- 
ing just  now,"  said  Hugh,  looking  at  her 
with  his  limpid  eyes.  "  I  cannot  go  away 
— I  cannot  decide  anything  while  Amy  is 
ill.  I  must  know  that  she  is  well ;  I  must 
see  her  again  before  I  can  leave  Edger- 
ton." 

"  That  is  natural,"  said  Miss  Waldron, 
reading  the  whole  story  at  once.  "  Come 
when  you  like,  then ;  papa  is  in  no  haste. 
Good-morning ! " 

As  she  drove  away,  her  meditations 
were  by  no  means  of  a  cheerful  order. 
"  What  a  curious  tangle  life  is ! "  she 
thought.  "Here  this  poor  boy  has  set 
his  heart  on  a  girl  who  cares  nothing  for 
him — who,  in  turn,  has  given  Tier  heart 
to  a  man  who  merely  regarded  her  as  a 
subject  for  idle  amusement.  Is  it  always 
so,  I  wonder?  Are  women's  eyes  always 
blinded  by  tinsel  to  the  value  of  gold  ? 
Ah,  not  always — not  always!  I  take  no 
credit  to  myself  for  not  loving  that  man. 
I  am  simply  older,  wiser,  colder,  than  the 
child  who  gave  him  all  that  she  had  to 
give  of  passion  and  fancy ;  but  I  have 
been  as  blind  as  she  to  the  merit  of  an- 
other." 

It  has  been  said  before,  that  want  of 
courage  was  not  one  of  Marchmont's 
faults,  and  therefore  it  was  not  strange 
that  he  remained  in  Edgerton  for  several 
days  after  the  duel.  Public  sentiment 
indignantly  condemned  his  course,  but 
for  that  very  reason  he  defied  public  sen- 


;THE  THORNS  I  REAP  ARE  OF  THE  TREE  I  PLANTED.' 


Ill 


timent  by  his  presence.  His  friends  and 
relations  were  exceedingly  anxious  for  his 
departure,  but  lie  was  in  no  haste  to 
gratify  them.  The  place  had  become 
hateful  to  him,  but  he  would  not  give 
people  the  least  ground  for  saying  that 
he  was  afraid  to  remain ;  so,  for  once,  he 
compelled  himself  to  endure  an  absolutely 
disagreeable  thing. 

During  these  days  he  heard  of  Felix's 
death,  but  the  event  made  no  impression 
on  him;  graver  matters  of  concern  had 
thrust  Amy  from  his  mind,  and,  if  he 
thought  of  her  at  all,  it  was  with  a  sense 
of  impatient  anger. 

He  had  thrown  away  solid  advantages 
and  involved  himself  in  any  amount  of 
unpleasantness  on  her  account,  and  she 
had  ventured  to  turn  upon  him  with  un- 
grateful reproaches !  His  idle  fancy  for 
her  had  died  on  that  night,  in  the  grounds 
of  Cedarwood,  when,  instead  of  the  pret- 
ty, piquant  toy  he  had  believed  her  to  be, 
she  faced  him  with  the  indignation  of  an 
outraged  woman ;  from  that  moment  her 
influence,  such  as  it  was,  sank  down  and 
died,  and  her  quondam  lover  only  thought 
of  her  to  execrate  his  folly. 

At  last  the  day  came  when  Archer 
was,  by  medical  authority,  pronounced 
out  of  danger,  and  Marchmont  felt  that  no 
man  could  venture  to  cast  a  reproach  up- 
on him  if  he  left  Edgerton.  He  prepared 
to  do  so  with  a  great  sense  of  relief. 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  disguise 
from  himself  the  fact  that  he  had  made  a 
complete  fiasco  of  the  business  which  had 
drawn  him  here ;  and  if  a  fiasco  is  an  es- 
tablished fact,  it  is  at  least  pleasant  to 
leave  the  scene  of  it  behind. 

He  left  this  scene  on  an  afternoon  of 
golden  beauty,  when  through  the  droop- 
ing boughs  of  the  trees  the  sun's  rays  shot 
in  long  lances  of  gold,  and  the  air  seemed 
dissolving  in  amber  mist — an  afternoon 
like  many  of  those  when  he  had  loitered 
with  Amy  among  the  spring  woods  where 
summer's  richer  robes  now  hung.  The 
Lathrops  obeyed  very  heartily  the  hos- 
pitable injunction  to  "  speed  the  parting 


guest ;  "  and  it  was  the  same  sense  of  duty 
which  had  influenced  Edward  in  the  mat- 
ter of  the  duel,  which  induced  him  to  ac- 
company his  cousin  to  the  railroad-station 
and  see  him  off. 

On  their  way  thither  they  passed  the 
church  which  the  Lathrops  attended,  and 
where  Marchmont  had  once  or  twice,  in 
a  fit  of  ennui,  accompanied  them.  The 
door  stood  open,  a  few  people  were  lin- 
gering round  it,  and  the  bell  in  the  tower 
above  was  tolling  slowly,  solemnly,  on 
the  still  air.  Who  has  not  sometimes 
been  struck  with  the  painful  incongruity 
of  such  a  knell  with  the  soft  loveliness  of 
a  day  which  alone  seems  fitted  for  life 
and  happiness  ?  Even  Marchmont  felt  it 
now. 

"  It  is  hard  lines  on  some  poor  creat- 
ure to  be  put  under  the  ground  to-day," 
he  said.  ""Who  is  to  be  buried,  Ned? " 

"Haven't  you  heard?"  answered  La- 
throp,  regarding  him  with  an  odd  look. 
"  Mr.  Reynolds  is  dead." 

Despite  himself,  Marchmont  felt  that 
he  started  and  changed  color.  In  truth, 
he  was  for  a  moment  deeply  shocked. 

"  Good  Heaven  I  "  he  said.  "Do  you 
mean  the  music-teacher — Amy's  father  ?  " 

"  The  same,"  his  cousin  answered. 

"Why,  what  has  killed  him? " 

"  The  visitation  of  God — as  coroners' 
juries  say — I  suppose.  Some  people 
think  that  he  died  of  grief  from  the  death 
of  his  son." 

"  It  is  a  great  misfortune  for  his  fam- 
ily, is  it  not?"  said  Marchmont,  after  a 
pause.  "Have  they  anything  to  depend 
upon  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  about  their  affairs,  but 
I  should  not  imagine  they  had.  ^  Amy 
will  probably  make  a  fortune  some  day, 
if  she  lives." 

"  If  she  lives !  "  repeated  Marchmont. 
"Is  she  ill?" 

"  What !  you  don't  know  that  ?  "  asked 
Lathrop,  in  surprise.  "She  is  danger- 
ously ill,  I  believe,  with  diphtheria— the 
same  disease  of  which  Felix  died." 

"  I  had  not  heard  it,"  said  Marchmont, 


112 


AFTER  MANY  DATS. 


slowly.  Then,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
he  added,  "  I  am  very  sorry." 

"It  certainly.is  a  pity,"  said  the  other, 
a  little  dryly — "  or  will  be  a  pity  if  she 
dies — poor  girl !  " 

Marchmont  did  not  answer  this  re- 
mark ;  perhaps  he  could  not.  Steeped  in 
selfishness  and  worldlinesa  as  he  was,  a 
thrill  of  shame  went  through  him — shame 
for  leaving,  at  such  a  time  as  this,  without 
even  a  word  of  sympathy,  without  even 
learning  whether  she  lived  or  died,  the 
girl  he  had  professed  to  love. 

For  one  minute — with  the  deep  stroke 
of  the  bell  falling  measuredly  on  his  ear, 
and  reminding  him  of  her  desolate  posi- 
tion— he  felt  an  inclination  to  return ;  but 
this  did  not  last  long. 

"  What  good  could  I  possibly  accom- 
plish?"  he  asked  himself.  "It  would  be 
absurd  and  inconvenient  in  every  way  for 
me  to  do  such  a  thing." 

"  We  are  barely  in  time  to  catch  your 
train,  Brian,"  said  Lathrop,  as  they  came 
in  sight  of  the  station.  "  Yonder  it 
stands." 

"I  should  not  like  to  miss  it,"  eaid 
Marchmont. 

N"or  did  he.  By  the  time  he  reached 
the  platform  of  the  station  a  revulsion  of 
feeling  had  come,  and  he  was  more  anx- 
ious than  ever  to  leave.  "  Our  pleasant 
vices  are  made  whips  with  which  to 
scourge  us,"  and  some  such  whip  the 
thought  of  Amy  Reynolds  had  become  to 
him.  He  was  glad  to  shake  hands  quick- 
ly with  Lathrop,  to  spring  into  the  mov- 
ing train,  and  to  feel  that  its  motion  bore 
him  swiftly  away  from  past  follies  and  fu- 
ture annoyances. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

EXETJXT  OMNES. 

AFTER  the  last  heavy  blow  that  struck 
Amy  to  the  earth,  the  doctor  went  in 
grave  anxiety  to  Mr.  Trafford. 

"I  am  very  uneasy  about  that  poor 


girl,"  he  said.  "She  has  learned  that 
her  voice  is  ruined,  and  her  despair  is 
terrible — not  noisy,  you  understand,  but 
worse  than  that.  When  I  vras  obliged 
to  tell  her  the  truth  yesterday,  she  fainted, 
and  since  then  she  has  hardly  uttered  a 
word.  She  simply  lies  and  stares  blankly 
out  of  the  window,  with  an  expression 
of  face  that  might  move  a  stone  to  pity. 
In  all  my  life  I  never  felt  more  sorry  for 
any  one.  Her  relations  and  friends — if 
she  has  any — certainly  ought  to  be  in- 
formed of  her  condition." 

"She  has  no  relations,  and,  to  my 
knowledge,  but  one  friend,"  replied  Mr. 
Trafford,  quietly.  "That  friend  will  en- 
deavor to  do  the  best  he  can  for  her, 
doctor,  you  may  be  sure." 

"That  friend  is  yourself,  of  course," 
said  the  doctor.  "You  are  an  extraordi- 
nary man,  Mr.  Trafford." 

"  If  you  mean  with  regard  to  my  con- 
duct in  this  matter,  I  should  be  sorry  to 
agree  with  you.  It  is  surely  not  extraor- 
dinary to  feel  compassion  for  the  deso- 
late and  helpless." 

"You  ought  to  know  the  world  as 
well  as  I,"  said  the  doctor,  dryly,  "there- 
fore you  ought  to  know  that  it  is  extraor- 
dinary for  a  man  to  feel  such  compas- 
sion, and  more  extraordinary  still  for  him 
to  act  upon  it  in  any  practical  manner. 
But  then,  you  are  no.t  bound  by  the  ties 
that  bind  most  men,"  he  added,  reflec- 
tively. 

"  I  am  glad  to  say  that  I  am  not,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Trafford,  "  if  such  ties  would 
serve  me,  as  I  have  seen  them  serve  other 
men,  as  an  excuse  and  cloak  for  selfish' 
ness.  I  am  much  obliged  for  your  infor- 
mation," he  went  on,  "and  I  will  see 
Miss  Reynolds  as  soon  as  possible.  When 
do  you  think  I  can  do  so  ? " 

"The  sooner  the  better,  I  should  say, 
if  yon  have  any  comfort  to  offer  her." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Trafford,  med- 
itatively. 

While  this  conversation  was  in  prog- 
ress, some  one  else  had  forestalled  the 
deliberation  of  the  elder  man  with  the 


EXEUNT  OMNES. 


113 


impetuosity  of  youth,  and  insisted  upon 
seeing  Amy  without  delay. 

This  was  Hugh  Dinsmore,  who  had 
haunted  the  house  like  a  restless  spirit 
during  Amy's  illness,  but  who  could  not 
have  won  permission  from  Clara  to  see 
her  now,  if  the  faithful  guardian  had  not 
thought  that  his  presence  might  rouse 
the  girl  a  little  from  that  apathy  of  de- 
spair which  alarmed  her  as  it  alarmed 
the  doctor. 

"And  she  has  heard  that  her  voice  is 
lost?"  cried  Hugh.  "Clara,  I  must— I 
must  see  her !  She  will  die  if  some  one 
does  not  try  to  help  her  I  " 

"  'Deed,  it  looks  like  it !  "  said  Clara, 
in  a  melancholy  tone.  "  I  reckon  you 
might  see  her ;  it  couldn't  do  no  harm,  and 
it  might  do  some  good.  She's  dresssed, 
but  she  don't  seem  to  care  about  leavin' 
her  room ;  so  I'll  take  you  up  there." 

Hugh  was  accordingly  taken  up  and 
introduced  into  the  small,  plain,  spotless 
chamber,  which,  like  every  other  corner 
of  the  house,  he  had  known  well  during 
his  years  of  intimacy  with  the  Reynolds 
children. 

His  old  playmate,  so  altered  in  appear- 
ance that  he  would  scarcely  have  known 
her,  sat  by  the  window  which  overlooked 
the  garden,  gazing  with  blank,  sombre 
eyes  at  the  network  of  boughs  across  the 
soft  blue  sky. 

"  Here's  Mr.  Hugh  Dinsmore,  Miss 
Amy,"  said  Clara,  opening  the  door. 
"  He's  been  makin'  such  a  fuss  to  see  you, 
that  I  thought  I'd  bring  him  up." 

"  Come  in,  Hugh,"  said  Amy,  turning 
her  face,  without  the  least  variation  of 
expression.  "  It  is  kind  of  you  to  want 
to  see  me,  and  you  are  almost  the  only 
person  whom  I  would  not  dislike  to  see. 
That  is  a  poor  welcome,"  she  added,  with 
the  saddest  possible  smile  ;  "  but  you  will 
take  it  for  what  it  is  worth — will  you 
not?" 

"0   Amy  —  my  poor  Amy!"  cried 

Hugh,  appalled  by  the  change  in  her — by 

the  quiet  of  the  white,  thin  face,  by  the 

sombre  darkness  of  the  sunken  eyes,  by 

8 


the  entire  aspect  of  hopeless  despair. 
With  a  passionate  grasp  he  held  the  frail 
hands  which  she  yielded  passively  to  him, 
and  gazed  at  her  with  a  sorrow  and  sym- 
pathy too  deep  for  words. 

Amy  looked  at  him  also,  but  it  was 
with  a  far-off,  absent  gaze,  as  if  she  were 
thinking  of  something  far  beyond  the  act- 
ual moment. 

"  How  long  it  seems  since  last  we  met, 
Hugh !  "  she  said.  "  Do  you  remember  ? 
It  was  the  night  of  the  concert ;  you  and 
I  and  Felix  were  in  the  parlor,  and  I  sang 
for  you." 

"I  have  seen  you  since  then,"  said 
Hugh.  "  Once,  in  Felix's  room — " 

"  I  did  not  see  you  then,"  she  said ; 
"  but  I  remember  that  night  as  if  I  saw  a 
picture  across  a  great  gulf:  you  and  I  and 
Felix,  and  papa  coming  in,  and  how  I 
sang,  and  how  excited  I  was,  and  how 
pretty  I  looked — and  now!  Can  you 
count  up  all  that  I  have  lost  since  then, 
Hugh?" 

"Don't  talk  of  it,"  said  Hugh,  in  a 
choked  voice.  "  It  is — it  is  too  much  for 
you." 

"  Why  should  I  not  talk  of  it,  when  I 
think  of  it  all  the  time !  "  she  said,  look- 
ing at  him  with  the  same  unchanging 
face.  "You  need  not  be  afraid  that  I 
shall  give  way  and  cry.  I  do  not  think  I 
shall  ever  shed  a  tear  again.  So  much 
has  gone,  that  I  hardly  feel  as  if  anything 
was  left.  Papa  and  Felix,  and  my  voice 
and  my  heart,  and  my  power  to  be  sorry, 
it  seems — all  that,  Hugh,  and  more  be- 
sides. I  wonder  why  I  got  well.  I 
thought  it  was  to  take  care  of  Mariette 
and  the  boys.  But  what  can  I  do  for 
them,  now  that  my  voice  is  gone  ?  We 
are  only  helpless  children  together,  with 
not  one  friend  on  earth." 

"O  Amy,  have  you  forgotten  me?" 
cried  poor  Hugh.  He  knelt  before  her, 
and,  still  holding  her  hands  fast  in  his 
own,  looked  appealingly  at  the  wan  young 
face,  now  bereft  of  all  beauty  save  the 
beauty  of  outline.  "Ever  since  we  were 
little  children  I  have  been  like  one  of 


114 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


your  brothers,"  lie  said.  "Let  me  be 
your  brother  now.  I  will  help  you,  I  will 
work  for  you,  I  will  do  everything  in  the 
world  I  can,  if  you  will  only  let  me 
serve  you — and  you  will,  Amy — will  you 
not?" 

"  It  is  impossible,  Hugh !  "  said  Amy, 
quietly ;  "  you  know  it  is  impossible.  I 
have  no  claim  upon  you — none  in  the 
world — unless  you  consider  it  a  claim  to 
have  treated  you  unkindly,  to  have  re- 
fused to  listen  to  your  advice,  and  to 
have  suffered  at  last  for  my  obstinacy  and 
heedlessness,  as  you  told  me  that  I  would 
suffer." 

"You  have  the  claim  of  our  old 
friendship  and  affection,"  said  Hugh.  "  I 
have  not  forgotten  that  the  only  home- 
life  I  have  ever  known  has  been  in  this 
house.  Amy,  I  am  strong,  and  I  can 
work  hard  for  you,  if  you  will  only  con- 
sider me  as  a  brother." 

"You  are  very  kind,  Hugh,"  said 
Amy,  touched  by  his  pleading,  but  still 
more  by  his  delicacy  in  not  mentioning 
his  love;  "but  I  am  older  than  you  in 
feeling,  and  I  know  that  such  a  thing  is 
quite  impossible.  Besides,  you  forget 
that  you  have  your  own  life  to  consider 
— that  you  are  going  abroad  to  study  art." 

"I  have  decided  not  to  go,"  said 
Hugh.  "  I  have  been  offered  a  clerkship 
here,  and  I  will  take  it  gladly,  if  you  say  so." 

"And  give  up  the  career  on  which 
your  heart  is  set  ? "  asked  Amy,  looking 
at  him  in  surprise. 

"  I  would  rather  be  of  use  to  you  than 
become  the  greatest  artist  in  the  world," 
he  answered,  simply. 

"Are  you  in  earnest?"  she  said, 
roused  to  interest.  "  Would  you  give  up 
the  object  of  your  life,  now  that  it  is  with- 
in your  grasp,  and  remain  here,  bound  to 
a  toil  you  detest — all  for  my  sake  ?  Hugh, 
do  you  mean  it?" 

"  I  mean  it  with  all  my  heart ! "  he 
replied;  "and  I  will  work  as  I  have 
never  worked  before  in  all  my  life,  Amy, 
if  you  will  let  me  take  charge  of  you." 

Amy  was  silent  for  a  moment.     Her 


eyes  left  the  eager  face  before  her,  and 
gazed  out  of  the  open  window  at  the  far 
blue  sky  with  a  strange,  reflective  expres- 
sion. 

"  You  would  do  all  this  for  me  ?  "  she 
said,  at  last,  slowly;  "and  I — what  have 
I  done  for  you?  What  sacrifice  have  I 
ever  made?  Hugh,  I  feel  this  moment, 
as  I  have  never  before  felt,  how  shameful 
my  conduct  has  been.  But  you  are  so 
kind,  so  patient,  you  will  forgive  me — 
will  you  not  ?  I  cannot  accept  your  sac- 
rifice— I  could  not  be  so  selfish,  even  if 
other  reasons  did  not  make  it  impossible. 
You  must  go  away  and  be  an  artist.  How 
we  three  talked  and  dreamed  of  being  ar- 
tists together  some  day — do  you  remem- 
ber? Now,  Felix  is  dead,  and  my  voice 
is  dead  with  him,  and  you  are  the  only 
one  left  to  fulfill  our  dreams.  You  must 
do  it;  and  if  we  should  never  see  each 
other  again,  you  must  think  'that  poor 
Amy,  though  foolish  and  vain,  was  very 
young ;  and  when  sorrow  and  desolation 
came,  she  found  that  she  had  one  faithful, 
unselfish  friend,  and  she  never,  never  for- 
got him ! ' " 

"And  you  won't  let  me  help  you? " 
cried  Hugh,  despairingly.  "  O  Amy, 
you  must — you  must !  You  don't  know 
— you  don't  understand  what  a  terrible 
thing  the  world  is  to  a  girl  like  you.  It 
would  have  been  hard  enough  to  con- 
quer even  with  all  the  sweetness  of  your 
voice;  \>\iinow — " 

"I  know  it  all,"  she  said,  as  he 
paused.  "I  think  of  it  until  my  brain 
seems  reeling.  O  Hugh,  if  I  had  my 
voice,  I  should  fear  nothing !  Was  it  not 
pruel  to  take  my  voice  from  me — all  that 
I  had  left?" 

"Hush,  dear!"  said  Hugh.  "You 
forget  Who  took  it." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  that  God  took 
it,"  she  said,  "  and  perhaps  he  did ;  but 
do  you  know  who  was  the  human  cause 
of  its  loss?" 

"You  contracted  the  disease  which 
ruined  it  in  nursing  Felix,"  said  Hugh, 
uncertain  as  to  what  she  meant. 


EXEUNT   OMNES. 


115 


"And  Felix  took  it  from  a  schoolfel- 
low whom  he  would  never  have  gone  to 
see  if  he  had  sailed  for  Europe  when  papa 
intended  that  he  should.  He  did  not  sail 
because  Brian  Marchmont  threw  on  him, 
as  well  as  on  you,  suspicion  with  regard 
to  that  miniature.  And  so  it  is  to  Brian 
Marchmont  that  I  owe — everything." 

"I  would  not  think  of  it  if  I  were 
you,"  said  Hugh,  rendered  vaguely  un- 
easy by  her  manner. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  always  think  of  it," 
she  said.  "  I  trust  that  I  shall  never 
forget  my  debt  until  I  can  pay  it." 

Before  Hugh  could  answer,  the  door 
opened,  and  Clara  looked  in. 

"Mr.  Trafford's  down-stairs,  and  is 
very  anxious  to  see  you,  Miss  Amy,"  she 
said.  "  Shall  I  bring  him  up?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Amy,  with  the  same 
quiet  apathy  that  she  had  shown  with 
regard  to  Hugh. — "  Mr.  Trafford  has  been 
so  kind,  that  I  cannot  refnse  to  see  him," 
she  added,  as  Clara  went  away.  "  He 
has  done  a  great  deal  for  us." 

"  He  has  the  power,"  said  Hugh,  for 
the  first  time  feeling  a  jealous  envy  of 
Mr.  Trafford. 

"  I  am  as  grateful  to  you  for  having 
the  will,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with 
her  steady,  sad  eyes — eyes  out  of  which 
the  sunny  joyousness  of  youth  had  died 
forever. 

As  Mr.  Trafford  came  up-stairs  he 
met  Hugh  going  down,  and  paused  for  a 
moment  to  speak  to  the  young  man. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  soon  be  turning 
your  face  toward  the  Old  World,"  he 
said,  after  they  had  exchanged  greetings. 

"  It  is  by  no  means  certain  that  I  shall 
go  at  all,"  Hugh  answered,  rather  brusque- 
ly, and  passed  on. 

Even  to  Hugh's  generous  nature  it  was 
hard  to  look  at  the  elder  man  and  think 
how  much  he  was  able  to  do  for  Amy, 
while  he  himself  could  do  nothing. 

Mr.  Trafford,  who  had  not  seen  Amy 
since  her  illness,  was,  like  Hugh,  shocked 
by  her  'wasted  appearance. 

Sickness,  grief,  and  wearing  anxiety, 


can  in  a  short  time  work  a  great  change ; 
and  they  had  done  their  utmost  here. 

As  Mr.  Trafford  entered  the  room, 
Amy  rose  to  meet  him,  and  held  out  her 
hand  with  an  air  of  gravity  which  seemed 
to  place  her  far  above  the  level  of  the 
pretty  girl  he  had  noticed  and  admired  a 
short  time  before. 

"  How  good  you  have  been  to  us !  " 
she  said,  lifting  her  dark,  circled  eyes  to 
his.  "I  cannot  thank  you  now,  Mr. 
Trafford ;  but  some  day,  perhaps — " 

"Never  mind  about  that,  my  dear," 
he  interrupted.  "You  have  nothing — 
nothing  at  all — for  which  to  thank  me. 
I  have  been  heartily  glad  to  be  of  service, 
but  I  have  done  very  little.  I  have  now 
come  to  discuss  how  I  can  best  serve  you 
further,"  he  went  on,  plunging  hastily 
into  his  subject.  "  Let  us  sit  down.  My 
poor  child,  this  will  never  do !  You  are 
a  shadow — an  absolute  ghost !  " 

"  Am  I  ?  "  said  Amy,  indifferently. 
"Yes,  I  suppose  so;  but  it  does  not  mat- 
ter." 

"Excuse me,"  said  Mr.  Trafford,  "but 
I  disagree  with  you  there.  It  does  mat- 
ter very  much;  and  I  see  that  the  doctor 
was  right — you  need  change  of  air  and 
scene  at  once." 

She  looked  a  little  surprised. 

"  I  did  not  think  the  doctor  was  so 
foolish  as  to  say  such  a  thing  of  me,"  she 
answered.  "Did  he  tell  you  the  awful 
news  that  my  voice — my  one  possession, 
my  last  hope — is  gone?  " 

"  He  told  me,"  replied  Mr.  Trafford, 
compassionately.  "I  was  grieved,  but 
not  surprised.  The  disease  which  you 
have  had  generally  injures  the  voice,  and 
therefore  I  feared  this  from  the~  first. 
Since  it  has  destroyed  your  cherished 
life-plan,  have  you  made  any  other?  " 

"  How  could  I  ?  "  she  asked,  drearily. 
"It  was  only  yesterday  I  discovered  the 
loss  of  my  voice.  Since  then  I  have  done 
nothing  but  wonder  why  I  did  not  die — 
I,  instead  of  Felix!  But  I  am  alive,  and 
I  must  find  some  way  to  make  bread  for 
myself  and  the  children  who  will  be  de- 


116 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


pendent  on  me.  Can  you  tell  me,  Mr. 
Trafford — you  who  know  the  world — 
what  I  can  do  ?  I  am  so  young,  and,  alas, 
so  ignorant  1  I  could  sing — that  was  all. 
What  can  I  do,  now  that  my  voice  is 


Mr.  Trafford  rose  abruptly  and  walked 
across  the  room  and  back.  His  eyes  were 
suspiciously  moist,  and  he  blew  his  nose 
with  an  emphasis  which  made  Amy  start. 

When  he  returned  to  her  side  and  sat 
down  again,  he  took  one  of  the  small, 
frail  hands,  as  Hugh  had  done  a  short 
time  before. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  kindly  and  grave- 
ly, "  I  feel  for  you  more  than  words  can 
express,  and  this  sympathy  must  be  my 
excuse  for  what  I  am  about  to  propose. 
You  ask  if  I  can  suggest  anything  for  you 
to  do — you,  so  young,  so  delicate,  so  un- 
fitted to  cope  with  the  world!  I  answer, 
that  I  have  been  considering  the  matter 
ever  since  your  father's  death,  and  I  have 
decided  that  there  is  but  one  thing  for  you 
to  do — if  you  can ;  that  is,  to  marry  me." 

"Mr.  Trafford!"  gasped  Amy.  She 
could  say  nothing  more,  but  her  face  ex- 
pressed extreme  amazement. 

She  had  felt  as  if  nothing  on  earth 
could  startle  her  benumbed  sensations; 
but  this  gave  her  a  shock  of  surprise 
which  thrilled  her  like  a  charge  from  a 
galvanic  battery.  She  gazed  at  the  speak- 
er with  eyes  expanded  and  lips  apart,  as 
if  doubting  the  evidence  of  her  senses. 

"I  thought  I  should  startle  you,"  he 
said,  "  but  there  was  no  way  to  avoid  it. 
Now,  listen  to  me  before  you  answer. 
I  am  a  rich  man,  and  have  not  a  relative 
in  the  world  who  has  any  claim  upon  my 
fortune.  Under  these  circumstances,  I 
feel  at  liberty  to  leave  it  as  I  please,  and 
for  some  time  past  I  have  decided  to 
leave  it  to  you.  I  can  hardly  tell  what 
influenced  me  to  this  determination,  ex- 
cept that  I  liked  you — one  can't  analyze 
liking,  you  know ;  and  when  I  heard  you 
wishing  for  wealth,  I  felt  inclined  to 
transform  myself  into  a  sort  of  fairy  god- 
father. If  I  had  chosen  to  announce  that 


I  meant  to  make  you  sole  heiress  of  a 
fortune  larger  than  General  Waldron's, 
you  might  have  married  the  man  with 
whom  you  fancied  yourself  in  love  a  little 
while  ago;  but  I  think  you  have  sense 
enough  to  be  glad  that  I  spared  you  such 
a  fate.  Had  your  father  lived,  I  should 
never  have  asked  you  to  become  the  wife 
of  an  old  fellow  like  me  ;  but  I  now  see 
no  other  means  of  giving  you  the  home 
and  the  protector  you  need.  If  you  con- 
sent to  marry  me,  I  will  do  everything  in 
my  power  to  make  you  happy ;  and  I 
will  care  for  Mariette  and  the  boys  as  if 
they  were  my  own  children.  I  have 
turned  the  matter  over  in  my  mind,  and 
I  can  see  no  other  plan  which  is  not  open 
to  grave  objections.  However,  if  you  can 
think  of  any  other,  I  will  give  it  careful 
consideration." 

He  paused,  as  if  waiting  for  her  an- 
swer ;  but  Amy  could  not  answer.  The 
world  seemed  spinning  round  with  her, 
and  the  pleasant  face  she  knew  so  well, 
with  its  iron-gray  hair  and  kindly  eyes, 
seemed  gazing  at  her  out  of  a  mist. 

"  Take  tune,"  he  said,  seeing  her  agi- 
tation. "  I  am  in  no  haste.  If  you  can- 
not answer  me  now,  I  will  wait  until 
to-morrow.  Think  of  the  matter  in  all 
its  bearings,  and  give  me  your  decision 
then." 

"Stop!"  said  Amy,  as  he  rose,  and 
she  laid  her  hand  nervously  on  his  arm. 
"  You  have  forgotten — you  cannot  mean 
such  a  thing  as  this,  if  you  remember  my 
wretched  folly — " 

"  I  remember  all  that,"  he  interrupt- 
ed; "but  your  folly  was  only  folly — 
nothing  worse.  Answer  me  this :  if  Brian 
Marchmont  entered  that  door  now,  how 
would  you  feel  toward  him  ?  " 

"I  should  feel  that  I  hated  him  with 
all  my  strength !  "  she  answered,  with  a 
sudden  light  of  passion  flashing  into  her 
eyes. 

"He'is  not  worth  bestowing  hate  up- 
•  on,"  said  Mr.  Trafford,  gravely.  "Sim- 
ply put  him  out  of  your  mind  and  your 
heart — that  will  do." 


EXEUNT  OMNES. 


117 


"  He  has  left  me  no  heart,"  she  said. 
"  That  is  the  worst  of  it.  I  cannot  even 
grieve  as  I  should  for  papa  and  Felix — I 
feel  so  dead.  Nothing  moves  me.  I  am 
very  grateful  to  you,  Mr.  Trafford,  but  I 
do  not  feel  your  kindness  as  I  ought.  I 
only  know  you  must  be  very  sorry  for 
me,  to  make  such  a  proposal  as  you 
have." 

"  My  dear  little  girl,"  he  said,  gently, 
"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you ;  but  all  the 
sorrow  in  the  world  would  not  induce 
me  to  make  such  an  offer,  if  I  were  not 
sincerely  attached  to  you.  I  am  too  old 
for  lovers'  rhapsodies,  but  it  is  my  heart 
which  I  offer  you  as  well  as  my  hand." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  with  unutter- 
able astonishment  on  her  face. 

"Your  heart  —  to  me!"  she  said. 
"  Why,  you  have  only  known  me  as  an 
ignorant,  foolish,  selfish  child !  " 

"  But  I  think  there  are  capabilities  of 
other  things  in  you,"  he  answered.  "At 
least,  such  as  you  are  I  like  you,  and,  if 
you  can  marry  me,  I  will  endeavor  to 
make  you  happy.  Don't  answer  now, 
however.  I  will  be  back  to-morrow." 

With  a  warm  clasp  of  her  hand,  he 
went  away,  and  a  minute  later  she  heard 
his  voice,  speaking  to  Mariette  in  the 
passage  below. 

The  sound  brought  back  to  her  memo- 
ry all  his  kindness  during  the  period  of 
sorrow  through  which  they  had  passed, 
and,  sinking  back  into  her  chair,  she  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  hands  and  tried  to 
think. 

It  did  not  take  long  for  her  to  decide 
that  she  would  accept  Mr.  Trafford's  pro- 
posal. There  was  every  motive  to  induce 
her  to  do  so,  and  no  reason  for  refusal. 
If  he  had  asked  her  for  love,  she  would 
have  turned  away  from  him  ;  but  he  had 
not  done  so,  and  she  felt  an  instinctive 
sense  that  she  could  trust  him  not  to  de- 
mand more  than  she  could  give.  She 
had  been  scorched  by  the  fire  of  passion 
until  she  shrank  from  the  mere  thought 
of  it ;  and  there  was  an  attraction  in  the 
very  calmness  of  the  man  who  offered 


her  position  and  wealth,  recognizing  the 
great  gulf  of  years  between  them. 

Only  those  who  have  stood,  like  Amy, 
desolate  and  helpless,  bereft  of  every- 
thing, can  appreciate  what  this  offered 
protection  was  to  her ;  and  when  her 
decision  was  finally  taken,  she  drew  a 
deep  breath  of  relief  to  think  that  all 
anxiety  was  over — anxiety  for  herself, 
and  for  those  even  more  helpless  than 
herself. 

Yet  it  was  with  a  great  sense  of  sad- 
ness and  pain  that  she  bade  farewell  to 
all  the  past — to  the  careless  Bohemian 
life — to  the  glorious  hopes  of  winning 
fame  and  fortune — to  the  days  made 
golden  by  the  light  of  youth's  romance ! 
All  were  utterly  dead,  and  the  fruit  of 
the  last  had  turned  to  bitter  ashes  on  her 
lips;  but  she  could  not  think  of  them 
without  that  pang  which  irrevocable 
parting  never  fails  to  bring. 

The  first  person  who  heard  of  her 
resolution  was  Hugh.  In  the  evening  he 
came  again,  bearing  a  message  from  Miss 
Waldron,  who  wished  to  see  Amy,  and 
desired  to  offer  any  assistance  in  her 
power. 

"No  doubt  she  means  to  be  kind," 
Amy  answered,  quietly,  "  but  I  need  no 
assistance.  Since  I  saw  you  this  morn- 
ing, Hugh,  life  has  changed  for  me ;  my 
future  is  assured,  and  all  care  about  it  is 
6ver." 

A  vivid  flush  mounted  to  Hugh's  face. 
"You  have  taken  from  Mr.  Trafford, 
then,  assistance  which  you  would  not 
take  from  me !  "  he  said.  "  Amy,  is  that 
kind?" 

"If  I  had  taken  the  assistance  you 
mean  from  Mr.  Trafford,  I  might  answer 
that  he  is  able  to  render  it,  and  you  are 
not,"  said  Amy.  "  But  I  mean  more  than 
that,  when  I  say  that  my  future  is  as- 
sured ;  I  mean,  Hugh,  that  I  am  going  to 
marry  him." 

"You  mean — Amy,  are  you  mad?" 
asked  Hugh,  hoarsely.  "  Marry !— marry 
a  man  older  than  your  own  father!  " 

"  It  does  not  matter  to  me  how  old 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


he  is,"  said  Amy,  indifferently.  "  He  is 
kind,  he  is  generous,  he  is  rich,  he  is 
willing  to  take  care  of  me,  and  Mariette 
and  the  hoys.  Consider  what  I  am — 
think  how  few  men  would  make  such  a 
proposal — and  then  say  whether  or  not 
I  should  he  mad  indeed  to  refuse  it." 

"  Great  Heaven  !  "  said  Hugh,  aghast. 
"  And  it  has  come  to  this — you  will  sell 
yourself!  O  Amy,  for  God's  sake,  stop! 
Don't  do  this  thing!  It  will  be  worse 
than  poverty  and  toil — it  will  kill  your 
heart—" 

"You  are  talking  folly,  Hugh,"  inter- 
posed Amy.  "  I  have  no  heart  to  kill. 
Since  you  are  my  only  friend,  I  will  tell 
you  why  I  have  decided  on  this ;  but  you 
must  not  think  that  I  can  be  shaken  in 
my  purpose." 

"  I  don't  need  that  you  should  tell  me 
— I  know  everything,"  said  Hugh,  "  and 
I  see  no  excuse  in  any  of  it.  I  have  been 
true  to  you  through  a  great  deal,  Amy ; 
hut  this  is  worse — a  thousand  times  worse 
— than  all  that  has  gone  before.  If  you 
can  make  this  mercenary  marriage — you, 
so  young,  selling  yourself  so  utterly  for 
money — I  shall  feel  that  I  have  wasted  all 
the  love  that  I  have  given  to  you,  and  I 
will  never  again  think  of  yon  willingly  as 
long  as  I  live  1 " 

He  stood  before  her,  white  with  pas- 
sion and  indignation,  and  Amy  looked  up 
at  him  with  a  sadness  which  he  remem- 
bered long  afterward. 

"  Good-by,  then,  Hugh,"  she  answered. 
"I  have  said  good-by  to  all  the  rest ;  you 
are  the  last  link  with  the  past,  and  it 
seems  that  I  must  leave  you,  too.  I  hope 
you  will  forget  me — I  am  not  worth  re- 
membering— though  I  think  you  are  un- 
just to  me  now.  So  it  ends — all  we  hoped 
and  dreamed.  Good-by !  " 

"Amy,"  cried  Hugh,  with  one  last, 
wild  appeal,  "  come  to  me !  I  am  young 
and  strong,  and  I  will  work  for  you  ?  Is 
love  nothing?  I  love  you  as  nobody  else 
ever  has  loved  or  ever  will  love  you,  I 
am  sure ! " 

"  If  you  were  as  rich  as  Mr.  Trafford, 


Hugh,  and  said  tJiat,  it  would  be  enough 
to  make  me  answer  No,"  replied  Amy. 
"  You  love  me  so  much,  that  you  would 
want  me  to  love  you  in  return ;  and  that 
I  can  never  do.  I  have  no  love  for  any- 
body, and  so  I  am  glad  to  marry  a  man 
who  does  not  ask,  who  will  not  expect 
it." 

"And  you  are  determined — you  will 
marry  him  ? " 

"  I  am  determined — I  shall  marry 
him." 

"Then  God  help  me! — it  is  good-by 
forever!  If  1  can  avoid  it,  Amy,  I  will 
never  see  your  face  again." 

He  vanished  from  her  side  like  a  flash, 
as  if  afraid  to  trust  himself  a  moment  lon- 
ger, and  the  door  closed  sharply.  Sitting 
in  the  dusky  twilight,  with  summer  fra- 
grance heavy  on  the  air,  and  the  soft  lus- 
tre of  the  "tender  star  of  love"  shining 
from  the  delicate  sky,  Amy  knew  that 
she  had,  indeed,  said  farewell  to  all  the 
past. 

A  week  or  two  later — as  soon  as  the 
doctor  declared  that  Amy  was  able  to 
travel — her  marriage  to  Mr.  Trafford  took 
place.  They  were  married  early  one 
morning,  in  the  shabby  little  parlor  which 
she  was  never  to  enter  again,  and  the 
news  fell  on  Edgerton  like  a  clap  of  thun- 
der. There  had  been  some  talk  of  a 
charitable  subscription  for  "  that  poor  Mr. 
Keynolds's  family,"  and  the  well-meaning 
ladies  who  were  engaged  in  this — Mrs. 
Lathrop  at  the  helm — felt  as  if  the  whole 
fabric  of  social  order  was  insecure,  when 
they  heard  that  the  musician's  penniless 
daughter  had  become  the  wife  of  the 
wealthy  Mr.  Trafford. 

"Gone  to  Europe!"  people  said  to 
one  another  in  amazement.  "  Taken  the 
little  girl  with  them,  and  that  deaf  ser- 
vant— sent  the  boys  away  to  school — have 
you  ever  heard  anything  like  it  ?  " 

Public  curiosity  was  eager  to  learn 
how  such  an  unexpected  conclusion  to  the 
story  of  which  Amy  was  the  heroine  had 
been  reached ;  but  the  only  person  who 


EXEUNT   OMNES. 


119 


could  have  gratified  it  kept  silence  in 
the  most  provoking  manner,  and  only 
smiled  when  the  matter  was  canvassed 
before  her. 

This  person  was  Miss  Waldron,  who, 
it  may  be  added,  came  in  for  no  little 
share  of  the  gossip  herself.  As  soon  as 
Archer  was  sufficiently  recovered  from 
the  effect  of  his  wound  to  be  moved,  the 
general  had  insisted  upon  taking  him  to 
Cedarwood  for  country  air  and  quiet; 
and,  as  people  sagely  remarked,  it  was 
easy  to  tell  what  that  meant.  It  meant  a 
season  of  such  rare  pleasure  and  repose 
in  the  young  man's  life,  that  he  would 
have  liked  to  shower  down  benedictions 
on  Marchmont's  head  for  having  shot 
him. 

As  the  long  golden  days  of  June 
passed  over  the  earth,  it  was  nothing  less 
than  a  delight  to  lie  on  the  warm,  dry 
grass,  flecked  by  waving  shadows  and 
flickering  sunlight,  with  Beatrix's  darkly 
handsome  face  bending  over  her  work 
near  by,  or  her  stately  figure  moving  here 
and  there,  framed  by  the  gracious  beauty 
of  the  summer  landscape. 

It  was  such  a  day  of  " blissful  June" 
as  this  when  Amy's  marriage  took  place ; 
and  Miss  Waldron,  who  was  the  only  in- 
vited guest  present  at  the  ceremony,  hav- 
ing returned  to  Cedarwood,  described  the 
event  to  Archer. 

"  Nothing  could  have  been  simpler," 
she  said;  "and  Amy — poor  child! — 
looked  pretty,  though  pale  as  alabaster. 
I  have  never  seen  any  one  more  composed 
in  manner  than  she  was." 

"  "Was  it  the  '  stony  calm '  one  reads 
about  in  novels  of  brides  who  give  their 
hands  where  their  hearts  are  not  ?  "  asked 
Archer. 

"  Very  far  from  it.  There  was  noth- 
ing stony  in  her  manner — nothing  in  the 
least  suggestive  of  an  effort — only  this 
grave,  quiet  composure.  I  hope  she  will 
be  happy,  and  I  hope  she  will  make 
Mr.  Trafford  happy,  for  I  like  him  very 
much." 

"Doubtful  on  both  sides,"  said  Arch- 


er. "I  can  see  no  foundation  for  happi- 
ness in  such  a  marriage." 

"I  can,"  said  Beatrix.  "I  am  sure 
Mr.  Trafford  will  be  kind  in  the  extreme, 
and  I  think  Amy  has  gained  sense  enough 
to  appreciate  his  kindness  and  generosity 
as  it  deserves." 

"  And  you  think  a  girl  of  her  age  will 
be  satisfied  with  a  mild  mixture  of  respect 
and  gratitude  for  love  ? — or  that  a  man  of 
Mr.  Trafford's  age  will  not  be  jealous  as  a 
tiger  of  a  young  wife  ? " 

"  Amy  has  changed — you  don't  know 
how  much  she  has  changed ;  and  I  hard- 
ly think  Mr.  Trafford  is  the  kind  of  man 
to  be  jealous  as  a  tiger  under  any  circum- 
stances." 

"You  must  be  aware  that  youth  is 
very  elastic,"  said  Archer,  who  never 
failed  to  maintain  his  opinion  to  the  last 
extremity.  "  Grief  and  disappointment 
have  no  doubt  changed  the  girl,  and  made 
her  seem  subdued,  but  the  effect  will  soon 
pass.  If  there  is  not  the  making  of  a  life- 
long coquette  in  her,  I  am  greatly  mis- 
taken ;  and  there  is  nothing  enviable  in 
the  position  of  a  middle-aged  man  married 
to  a  young,  flirting  woman." 

"  You  are  evidently  determined  to 
take  a  dark  view  of  the  matter,"  said  Bea- 
trix, smiling.  "But  I  have  great  hope 
that  the  marriage  will  prove  happy — all 
the  happier,  perhaps,  for  the  calmness  of 
sentiment  on  both  sides." 

"  You  think  calmness  of  sentiment  de- 
sirable, then?  "  said  Archer,  with  a  quick, 
searching  glance  at  her  face. 

A  slight  increase  of  color  came  to  that 
face,  but  she  was  too  entirely  mistress  of 
hersilf  to  betray  discomposure  in  any 
other  way. 

"  Surely  it  is  a  good  thing,"  she  an- 
swered. "  Surely,  when  we  see  the 
trouble  that  passion  brings — the  fever- 
ishness,  the  uncertainty — one  may  be  par- 
doned for  thinking  calmness  of  sentiment 
very  desirable." 

"  Yet,"  said  Archer,  "it  was  only  yes- 
terday that  I  found  a  book  of  poems  on 
your  table,  with  this  passage  marked : 


120 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


'  He  who  for  love  has  undergone 

The  worst  that  can  befall, 
Is  happier,  thousand-fold,  than  one 

"Who  never  loved  at  all ; 
A  grace  within  his  soul  has  reigned 

Which  nothing  else  can  bring — 
Thank  God  for  all  that  I  have  gained 

By  that  high  offering  1 '" 

44 1  suppose  I  marked  the  passage  be- 
cause the  idea  is  prettily  expressed,"  said 
Beatrix,  with  another  blush  brighter  than 
the  other.  "  You  seem  to  have  remem- 
bered the  lines  very  well." 

"I  have  a  good  memory,"  he  an- 
swered, quietly. 

Then  silence  fell.  They  were  sitting 
on  the  lawn,  and  the  sweet  sights  and 
sounds  of  summer  were  all  around  them. 
A  great  pride-of-china  tree  dropped  the 
perfumed  petals  of  its  purple  blossoms  on 
Beatrix's  head ;  shadow  and  sunshine  in- 
terlaced over  her  white  dress ;  bees  were 
drowsily  humming  on  the  scented  air ; 
light  breezes  came  and  stirred  the  foliage 
with  a  soft  rustle. 

"  How  delightful  this  is !  "  said  Arch- 
er, presently.  "  But  I  fear  it  is  very  de- 
moralizing. After  having  lived  in  fairy- 
land for  a  while,  I  shall  find  it  hard  to  go 
back  to  the  treadmill  of  daily  life  and 
labor.  Yet  it  must  be  done — and  that 
soon,"  he  added,  as  if  to  himself. 

"What  is  the  need  for  haste? "  asked 
Beatrix.  "You  have  improved  very 
much  since  you  have  been  here,  but  you 
are  by  no -means  well  yet." 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  recover  my 
health  here,"  he  answered.  "  There  are 
too  many  temptations  to  remain  ill.  I 
have  decided  to  follow  my  doctor's  ad- 
vice, and  go  to  the  sea-side  for  a  while." 

Beatrix  dropped  her  needlework  with 
which  she  was  occupied  into  the  lap,  and 
looked  at  him  with  her  steady,  dark 
eyes. 

"You  have  decided — since  when?" 
she  asked.  "  This  is  certainly  very  sud- 
den." 

He  moved  a  little  uneasily. 

"I  have  decided,  Miss  Waldron;   is 


j  not  that  enough?"  he  said.  "I  always 
arrive  at  my  decisions  without  much  de- 
liberation. You  must  not  think  that  I 
fail  to  be  grateful  for  all  your  kindness, 
and—" 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  not  talk  of  grati- 
tude, Mr.  Archer,"  said  Beatrix,  stiffly. 
"  You  force  me  to  remind  you  that  but 
for  my  unfortunate  affairs  you  would  not 
have  incurred  the  wound  which  incapaci- 
tates you.  If  you  wish  to  go,  go  by  all 
means,  but  pray  do  not  feel  that  any  ex- 
cuse is  necessary  for  doing  so." 

She  took  up  her  work  again,  and,  as 
her  needle  began  to  fly  swiftly  back  and 
forth,  Archer  raised  himself  from  his  re- 
cumbent position  on  the  grass. 

"I  see  that  you  misunderstand  me," 
he  said ;  "  and  yet  I  think  you  ought  to 
know  better — I  think  you  ought  to  feel 
that,  however  ungracious  my  going  may 
seem,  it  is  a  matter  of  simple  neces- 
sity."' 

On  Beatrix's  cheek  a  flush  began  to 
burn,  but  she  did  not  lift  her  eyes,  and 
her  needle  flew  swifter  than  before,  as 
she  said,  "I  cannot  perceive  the  neces- 
sity." 

"  But  it  does  exist  1 "  said  Archer, 
with  vehemence.  "  It  is  presumption,  no 
doubt,  in  me  to  love  you,  Miss  Waldron," 
he  went  on,  without  giving  himself  time 
to  think,  "  but  since  I  do  love  you  with 
all  my  heart,  and  since  I  have  not  the 
faintest  hope  of  ever  winning  you,  it  is 
worse  than  folly  in  me  to  stay  here  and 
purchase  brief  pleasure  by  long  and  bitter 
pain.  Pardon  me  for  having  made  this 
declaration,"  he  added,  after  a  short  pause 
which  no  sound  from  Beatrix  broke,  "  but 
I  was  compelled  to  make  you  understand 
why  I  must  go.  Now  you  see  it,  of 
course,  as  I  do ;  and  I  shall  leave  without 
delay." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  was  in  the 
act  of  walking  away,  when  Beatrix's 
voice  arrested  him — a  voice  tremulous, 
though  clear  and  sweet : 

"Stop  a  moment,  Mr.  Archer,"  she 
said.  "When  a  man  makes  a  declara- 


EXEUNT   OMNES. 


121 


tion  to  a  woman,  such  as  you  have  made, 
he  generally  waits  for  an  answer — does 
he  not  ? " 

Archer  turned  quickly.  "I  did  not 
think  there  was  any  answer  possible  that 
I  would  care  to  hear,"  he  replied.  "I 
am  not  mad,  Miss  Waldron.  I  know  my 
position  in  life ;  I  know  that  I  have  none 
of  the  advantages  which  the  man  who 
hopes  to  marry  you  must  possess.  I  am 
poor;  I  am  struggling;  I  am  not  fitted 
by  nature  to  win  a  woman's  heart.  I 
can  only  love  you,"  he  said,  with  passion- 
ate bitterness,  "  and  what  is  that?  " 

She  rose,  and  stood  before  him,  proud 
and  stately,  yet  with  a  sweetness  on  her 
lips  and  in  her  eyes  which  no  one  had 
ever  seen  there  before. 

"If  you  are  not  mad,  you  are  blind," 


she  said,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice.  "  Why 
can  you  not — see?  Must  I  answer  your 
question?  Must  I  tell  you  what  your 
love  is  to  me?  " 

He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  could  not 
trust  his  eyes,  as  if  he  could  not  believe 
his  ears.  He  was  so  shaken,  so  amazed, 
at  this  unexpected  reply,  that  emotion 
held  him  literally  motionless  for  a  min- 
ute. Then  he  said  like  one  who  speaks 
with  an  effort  : 

"Yes — tell  me  what  it  is  to  you." 
She  was  the  more  self-possessed  of 
the  two,  because  she  understood  all  that 
he  felt,  and  the  revelation  of  it  was  no 
surprise  to  her.  She  held  out  her  hand 
quietly,  but  he  never  forgot  the  tone  of 
her  voice,  when  she  answered  with  the 
word,  "Everything." 


PART    II. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AFTER    TEH    TEAKS. 

THE  London  season  was  opening  brill- 
iantly, and  the  foggy  island  began  to 
wear  its  loveliest  attire  of  green,  when, 
in  a  small  but  very  charming  house,  over- 
looking one  of  the  most  fashionable  streets 
of  Mayfair,  an  American  lady,  who  was 
something  of  a  celebrity,  took  up  her 
residence. 

The  name  of  this  celebrity  was  Mrs. 
Trafford,  a  beautiful  and  wealthy  young 
widow,  who  in  Paris,  in  Nice,  in  Flor- 
ence, in  Homburg,  and  in  half  a  dozen 
otber  places,  was  well  known,  and  whose 
dresses,  jewels,  horses,  dinners,  and  flir- 
tations, were  topics  of  gossip,  and  the 
latter,  perhaps,  of  a  little  scandal,  wher- 
ever she  went. 

But  Mrs.  Traffbrd  was  able  to  set  such 
scandal  very  much  at  defiance.  The  worst 
of  gossips  could  not  allege  anything  like 
impropriety  against  her;  and  her  attrac- 
tions were  so  many,  her  wealth  apparent- 
ly so  great,  that  the  minor  transgressions 
of  such  a  fascinating  person  were  not 
held  of  much  account. 

Exactly  who  or  what  she  was,  no- 
body was  able  .to  say  with  any  degree 
of  certainty,  for  she  was  not  partial  to 
her  countrymen  and  countrywomen,  and 
rarely  associated  with  them — a  fact  from 
which  unpleasant  things  had  more  than 
once  been  argued  concerning  her. 

When  a  report  of  these  things  reached 
Mrs.  Trafford's  ears,  she  only  laughed — 
a  silvery,  mocking  laugh  well  known  to 


all  her  associates — and  went  her  way 
with  a  supreme  indifference  which  served 
to  secure  her  position  better  than  any 
self-assertion  could  have  done.  Apart 
from  her  wealth,  the  causes  which  gave 
her  admittance  into  many  usually  exclu- 
sive circles  were  not  hard  to  trace.  She 
possessed  beauty  so  extraordinary,  that 
painters  and  sculptors  raved  over  the 
faultless  outlines  of  her  face  and  figure, 
the  exquisite  tints  of  her  complexion  and 
hair,  while  her  grace,  her  wit,  her  sawir-. 
faire,  were  hardly  less  remarkable.  It 
became  the  fashion  to  know  her — the 
fashion  to  praise  her  daring  yet  graceful 
charm  of  manner  and  speech. 

Of  course,  no  woman  so  endowed 
could  lack  suitors,  and,  equally  of  course, 
there  were  many  people  to  call  her  a 
heartless  coquette,  and  say  that  she  lived 
only  for  homage  and  admiration.  Num- 
berless were  the  stories  told  of  the  fate 
of  her  cavaliers — of  her  graciousness  so 
long  as  they  amused  her,  of  her  fickle 
caprices  when  they  ceased  to  do  so.  It 
was  at  least  certain  that  she  evinced  no 
sign  of  an  intention  to  resign  her  free- 
dom for  any  one  of  them. 

When  she  first  appeared  in  society 
she  had  propitiated  Mrs.  Grundy  by  keep- 
ing a  chaperon — an  elderly  widow,  wrho 
filled  a  seat  in  her  carriage,  or  sat  in  her 
drawing-room  and  played  propriety  to 
perfection;  but  after  a  few  years  this 
lady  disappeared,  and  her  place  was  filled 
by  a  very  different  companion,  a  young 
girl,  the  sister  of  the  fair  widow,  who 
added  another  attraction  to  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford's already  attractive  house. 


AFTER  TEN  YEARS. 


123 


It  would  have  been  difficult  to  find  a 
fresher,  lovelier  face  than  this  girl  pos- 
sessed— a  face  which  would  have  made 
her  a  formidable  rival  to  most  women, 
but  which,  by  the  side  of  the  elder  wom- 
an's regal  beauty,  was  like  a  white  rose- 
bud near  a  "queen-rose"  glowing  with 
color,  full  of  fragrance. 

Such  a  comparison  would  have  oc- 
curred to  almost  any  one  who  saw  the 
two  as  they  sat  together  in  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford's  boudoir-like  drawing-room,  a  few 
days  after  their  arrival  in  London. 

"  I  think  we  are  fairly  settled  at  last," 
said  the  young  widow,  gazing  meditative- 
ly out  of  the  window  at  the  green  tops 
of  the  trees  in  the  opposite  park.  "Do 
you  know,  Mariette,  I  am  growing  to  be 
a  little — -just  a  little — tired  of  wandering? 
We  have  lived  in  so  many  places,  that  I 
begin  to  feel  as  if  I  would  like  a  settled 
home." 

From  the  luxurious  chair  in  which  she 
was  lounging,  Mariette  looked  at  her  sis- 
ter with  a  glance  of  surprise.  She  was 
purely  blond,  with  limpid  eyes  of  tur- 
quoise blue,  and  hair  like  woven  sunshine 
— a  mass  of  golden  softness  coifed  with 
negligent  grace  above  the  broad,  white 
brow,  and  framing  it  with  delicate  baby- 
rings,  lovely  enough  for  a  seraph.  Her 
complexion  was  "milk  and  roses"  incar- 
nate— all  creamy  softness  and  delicate 
bloom ;  while  her  pretty,  tremulous  lips 
parted  over  small,  pearly  teeth. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  think  of  making 
London  that  home,  Amy !  "  she  said,  with 
the  least  possible  shrug  of  her  dainty 
shoulders.  "  I  like  it  less  than  any  place 
I  have  ever  seen.  How  gloomy  and  triste 
it  is,  compared  with  Paris !  " 

"Wait  a  little,"  said  Mrs.  Trafford, 
with  a  smile.  "That  is  one's  first  im- 
pression, but  it  wears  away  after  a  while. 
I  have  been  thinking  for  some  time  that, 
though  Continental  cities  are  well  enough 
in  their  way,  London,  perhaps,  might  be 
best  for  our  headquarters.  But  there  is 
no  need  to  settle  anything,  since  we  are 
fortunately  free  as  air,"  she  added,  as  the 


expression  of  Mariette's  face  grew  slight- 
ly dismayed.  "  Wo  will  try  one  season, 
and  then,  if  we  don't  like  it,  nothing  is 
easier  than  to  take  flight." 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  not  like  it,"  said 
Mariette,  with  slight  petulance,  "  and  I 
think  it  very  odd  of  you  to  entertain  such 
an  idea,  for  you  have  often  said  that  you 
disliked  all  English-speaking  countries — I 
mean,  all  countries  where  English  is 
spoken." 

"  That  was  because  I  disliked  the  idea 
of  any  association  of  the  past,"  her  sister 
replied.  "Bnt  there  is  really  no  more 
danger  of  such  a  thing  in  London  than  in 
Paris  or  Rome.  Moreover,  I  have  learned 
to  consider  the  feeling  very  foolish.  No 
shadow  could  rise  out  of  the  past  which 
would  have  power  to  vex  or  disturb  me 
now." 

"I  should  think  not,  indeed!"  said 
Mariette,  nestling  deeper  into  her  silken 
chair,  with  a  comfortable  sense  of  perfect 
security.  To  her  the  past  of  which  her 
companion  spoke  was  no  more  than  a 
vague  dream.  Luxurious  ease,  encom- 
passing beauty,  absolute  freedom  from 
care — these  things  had  made  her  life 
since  early  childhood ;  and  hence  her 
nymph-like  face  was  joyous  as  Psyche's, 
her  lovely  eyes  undimmed  by  the  faintest 
shade  of  that  trouble  which  is  the  doom 
of  humanity. 

Mrs.  Trafford's  face  was  different. 
Despite  its  wonderful  beauty,  its  soft  yet 
brilliant  charm,  no  close  observer  could 
fail  to  be  aware  that  this  woman  had  suf- 
fered as  well  as  enjoyed.  In  the  depths 
of  her  changeful  eyes  the  possibility  of 
shadow  lurked,  and  her  rich,  sweet  voice 
had  accents  which  were  never  learned  in 
sunshine. 

After  Mariette's  last  words,  silence 
fell — a  silence  which  Mrs.  Trafford  had 
apparently  little  inclination  to  break. 
She  lay  back  in  the  soft  depths  of  her 
chair,  a  picture  of  marvelous  grace  in  her 
exquisite  toilet,  gently  waving  a  fan  back 
and  forth  with  one  snowy,  delicate  hand 
— a  hand  fit  for  princes  to  kiss,  and  which 


124 


AFTER  MAXY  DAYS. 


no  one  could  fancy  had  ever  dusted  and 
swept  and  darned  in  those  long-past  days 
to  which  she  had  alluded. 

"  Amy,"  said  Mariette  suddenly, 
"  don't  be  vexed  if  I  ask  you  a  question 
. — hut  do  you  think  you  will  ever  marry 
again  ?  " 

"  That  depends  altogether  upon  circum- 
stances," replied  Mrs.  Trafford,  without 
the  least  trace  of  vexation.  "  If  I  could 
see  clearly  that  I  should  gain  anything 
by  marrying,  I  might  do  so ;  but  I  have 
never  seen  that  clearly  yet.  In  such  a 
step  I  should  have  little  to  gain  and  much 
to  lose.  My  position  is  now  as  well  as- 
sured as  I  could  desire,  and  I  like  the 
freedom  of  my  present  existence  so  well, 
that  I  do  not  think  any  life  which  could 
be  offered  me  in  exchange  would  gain  by 
comparison  with  it.  I  am  not  injured 
because  women  who  are  envious  call  me 
an  adventuress,  nor  because  men  whom  I 
have  rejected  Bay  that  I  have  no  heart. 
As  far  as  they  are  concerned  they  are 
right ;  I  have  no  heart — not  the  least.  I 
like  to  be  amused  and  admired,  but  such 
but  such  a  thing  as  sentiment  does  not 
exist  for  me.  If  I  ever  marry  it  will  be 
for  solid  advantages — advantages  which  I 
do  not  need  yet,"  she  added,  "with  a  glance 
at  her  reflection  in  a  mirror  opposite. 

Mariette  rose  and  kissed  her  lightly. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  told  me  this !  " 
she  said.  "  I  have  been  wondering  a  lit- 
tle if  our  coming  to  England  did  not  mean 
something  of  the  kind,  and — selfishly,  no 
doubt — I  did  not  like  it.  We  are  so 
charmingly  situated  as  we  are,  that  I 
could  not  welcome  a  possible  brother-in- 
law  very  cordially." 

"And  why  should  you  fear  such  a 
thing — especially  now  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know ;  except  that  it  is 
easy  to  see  how  much  in  love  both  Mr. 
Grantham  and  Colonel  Danesford  are — " 

"  Choose  your  terms  better,  petite,'11 
interposed  her  sister,  with  a  curling  lip. 
"  Boys  fall  in  love,  not  men  of  the  world 
like  those  of  whom  you  speak.  Mr. 


Grantham  is  a  diplomatist  of  considerable 
ambition  and  small  fortune,  who  thinks 
that  my  fortune — also  my  personal  gifts 
of  beauty,  cleverness,  and  social  power — 
might  serve  his  ends  very  well.  No 
doubt  he  is  right.  No  doubt  I  should 
make  an  admirable  trump-card  for  a  man 
in  his  position;  but  I  cannot  say  that  my 
pulses  stir  at  the  idea  of  becoming  the 
wife  of  a  secretary  of  legation  who  is 
fiftieth  cousin  to  half  a  dozen  peers  and 
peeresses." 

"I  certainly  do  not  think  it  would 
be  a  brilliant  match  for  you,'1'1  said  Mari- 
ette. 

"  It  would  not  be  a  brilliant  match  at 
all.  I  should  give  much  and  receive  lit- 
tle. Even  without  birth,  I  have  a  right 
to  look  much  higher.  Indeed,  better  men 
have  offered  themselves  to  me  before 
this." 

"Ah,  I  know  that!  "cried  Mariette, 
with  a  gay,  sweet  laugh.  "  You  do  not 
talk  much  of  such  things,  but  I  see — I 
guess — a  great  deal." 

"  More  than  exists,  perhaps,"  said  her 
sister.  "Now,  Colonel  Danesford  be- 
longs to  another  class.  He  is  wealthy, 
he  is  the  heir  to  a  baronetcy,  and  he  is  a 
brave  soldier.  I  like  and  respect  him, 
and  I  think  it  a  pity  that  he  has  suffered 
himself  to  become  seriously  attached  to 
me.  But  one  must  take  things  as  one 
finds  them.  He  is  an  agreeable  cavalier, 
and —  On  parle  du  soleil,  et  en  void  les 
rayons  !  "  she  added,  with  a  laugh,  as  the 
drawing-room  door  suddenly  opened  and 
a  servant  announced — 

"  Colonel  Danesford." 

There  entered  a  tall,  soldierly -looking 
man,  of  six  or  seven  and  thirty,  very 
much  sunburned,  decidedly  handsome, 
with  a  firmness  of  tread  and  a  decision  of 
bearing  very  significant  of  his  rank  in 
life.  Aa  he  advanced,  there  were  a  sup- 
pressed eagerness  in  his  manner  and  a 
glow  in  his  dark  eyes  which  betrayed  his 
feeling  for  the  fair  woman  who  rose  to 
meet  him  graciously. 

"  So  you  have  come  to  welcome  us  to 


AFTER  TEN  YEARS. 


125 


London,  Colonel  Danesford ! "  she  said, 
holding  out  her  hand.  "  I  was  sure  you 
would  come  as  soon  as  you  knew  that  we 
were  here.  Mariette  and  I  were  speak- 
ing of  you  a  moment  ago." 

"I  have  been  out  of  town  until  to- 
day, so  it  chances  that  I  have  only  just 
now  heard  of  your  presence  in  London," 
he  answered.  "  Of  course  I  lost  no  time 
in  coming  to  place  myself  at  your  feet,  as 
our  friends  in  Italy  say.  This  is  a  most 
unexpected  pleasure — one  of  which  I  had 
no  idea  when  we  parted  in  Borne." 

Then  he  turned  to  Mariette,  and,  the 
commonplaces  of  greeting  having  been 
exchanged,  the  three  fell  at  once  into  the 
easy  talk  of  old  acquaintances.' 

"We  have  been  in  London  exactly 
five  days,"  Mrs.  Trafford  said,  in  answer 
to  a  question  ;  "  but  we  are  so  practised 
in  the  art  of  establishing  ourselves  in  new 
quarters — or,  rather,  we  have  a  major- 
domo  who  is  so  accomplished  in  the  art 
of  establishing  us — that  we  feel  as  if  we 
had  been  settled  for  months.  What  do 
you  think  of  our  situation  ?  " 

"It  is  excellent,"  he  said,  glancing 
around,  "  and  I  see  that  you  have  made 
everything  redolent  of  your  presence.  I 
could  fancy  myself  back  in  your  salon  in 
Rome." 

"Only  that  is  no  Koman  sky,"  said 
she,  pointing  through  the  window. 

"No  more  than  Hyde  Park  is  the 
Corso,"  said  Mariette. 

"I  fancy,  from  the  tone  of  that  re- 
mark, that  yon  do  not  like  Hyde  Park, 
Miss  Reynolds,"  said  Colonel  Danesford. 
"Have  you  been  on  the  Row?  Can  we 
not  have  a  repetition  of  some  of  our  de- 
lightful Roman  rides  ? " 

"Not  readily,  for  we  were  always  a 
partie  carree  in  Rome,"  replied  Mariette ; 
"and  where  shall  I  find,  in  your  great 
London,  such  charming  cavalieri  as  were 
at  my  service  there  ?  " 

"Five  days  more  will  answer  that 
question,  I  am  sure,"  said  Colonel  Danes- 
ford,  good-humoredly.  "  We  may  not  be 
able  to  furnish  such  picturesque  cavaliers 


as  your  attendants  in  Rome  ;  but,  though 
Englishmen  lack  grace,  they  do  not  lack 
appreciation." 

He  glanced  at  Mrs.  Trafford  as  he 
uttered  these  words,  and  smiling,  she 
said: 

"You  must  excuse  Mariette.  Just 
before  we  left  Rome  we  were  both  capti- 
vated by  a  young  Spaniard  who  was  of 
the  bluest  blood,  handsome  as  a  dream, 
and  chivalrous  as  a  crusader.  He  de- 
scribed his  old  castle  in  the  Pyrenees  so 
eloquently,  that  we  were  half  inclined  to 
go  to  Spain — but,  instead,  we  have  come 
to  London." 

"  And  I  think  I  may  venture  to  say 
that  you  have  not  made  a  bad  choice. 
Have  you  been  out  much?  Do  your 
friends  know  that  you  are  in  town?  " 

"  We  have  not  been  out  a  great  deal, 
but  our  friends  have  already  begun  to 
gather  round  us,  and,  after  to-day,  we 
shall  scarcely  have  an  evening  disengaged. 
We  have  decided,  therefore,  to  spend  this 
evening  in  a  way  we  both  like — we  are 
going  to  hear  Nilsson  in  '  Faust,'  taking 
the  opera  en  connoisseur  from  the  begin- 
ning. If  you  have  no  other  engagement, 
can  you  not  join  us!  " 

If  Colonel  Danesford  had  any  other 
engagement,  he  did  not  give  it  a  thought. 

"I  shall  be  most  happy  to  do  so,"  he 
answered. 

"Then  you  will  dine  with  us — will 
you  not?  We  dine  earlier  than  usual,  of 
course.  In  fact,  I  ordered  dinner  for  six 
o'clock." 

Never  did  soldier  yield  a  more  ready 
assent  to  the  voice  of  the  charmer ;  and 
when,  at  six  o'clock,  they  sat  down,  in  a 
small  but  beautifully-appointed  dining- 
room,  to  the  most  elegant  of  dinners,  he 
felt  himself  a  man  to  be  envied. 

The  air  of  wealth  and  taste  which 
pervaded  everything,  the  profusion  of 
flowers,  the  admirable  attendance,  the 
two  fair  women  in  their  rich  toilets,  all 
combined  to  fill  him  with  a  sense  of  har- 
mony and  pleasure.  He  began  to  think 
that  this  was  better  than  Rome.  His 


126 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


foot  was  not  only  on  his  native  heath — 
which  is  always  assuring  to  a  man  who 
has  position  aud  ancestry  behind  him,  and 
whose  name  means  something  more  than 
the  names  of  Smith,  Jones,  and  Robinson 
— but  there  were  as  yet  fewer  rivals  in 
his  path  than  there  had  been  in  the  Eter- 
nal City ;  and,  though  he  knew  that  they 
would  appear  later,  he  also  knew  that  he 
possessed  the  advantage  of  priority  in  the 
field. 

"Priority  and  some  favor,"  he  said 
to  himself — although  common  report  had 
long  since  told  him  that  there  were  few 
things  so  absolutely  uncertain  as  Mrs. 
Trafford's  favor. 

After  dinner,  while  Mariette  retired 
to  put  a  few  finishing  touches  to  her 
toilet,  he  found  himself  alone  with  the 
young  widow,  and  he  at  once  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  opportunity. 

"  My  sister  desires  very  much  to  meet 
you,"  he  said,  standing  before  her  while 
she  drew  on  a  pair  of  long,  primrose- 
tinted  gloves.  "  She  will  be  in  town  next 
week.  I  think — I  hope — you  will  like 
each  other." 

'"You  are  very  kind,"  she  replied, 
glancing  up  with  easy  indifference.  "I 
shall  be  glad  to  meet  your  sister ;  I  think 
I  have  heard  of  her  as  a  very  charming 
woman." 

"I  will  not  venture  to  say  what  she 
has  heard  of  you,"  he  answered.  "  But 
it  is  enough  to  make  her  very  anxious  to 
know  you." 

"  If  you  have  made  any  report,  and 
if  she  has  taken  it  att,  pied  de  la  lettre,  I 
fear  she  will  be  sadly  disappointed,"  said 
Mrs.  Trafford,  coolly  buttoning  her  gloves. 
4'I  know  that  you  are  loyal  and  lauda- 
tory in  the  extreme  with  regard  to  your 
friends." 

"It  would  be  impossible  for  laudation 
to  exaggerate  what  you  are,"  he  said,  in 
a  low  tone.  "Surely  you  must  know 
that." 

"I  have  a  very  good  fund  of  vanity," 
she  said,  laughing,  "  but  I  hardly  think  it 
tells  me  anything  so  flattering. — The  car- 


riage at  the  door,  Johnson  ?  "  as  a  servant 
appeared.  "  Let  Miss  Reynolds  know." 

The  last  bars  of  the  overture  were 
being  played  when  the  two  ladies  and 
their  attendant  entered  Mrs.  Trafford's 
box. 

Many  glances  were  leveled  upon  them 
at  once,  and  Colonel  Danesford  was  not 
insensible  to  the  distinction  of  appearing 
as  sole  cavalier  of  the  famous  beauty, 
who  was  looking  even  more  beautiful 
than  usual  in  a  toilet  of  rich  green  silk, 
with  quantities  of  costly  white  lace  and 
emeralds  at  her  throat  and  in  her  ears. 

Seating  herself  in  the  front  of  the 
box,  she  lifted  her  glass  and  swept  the 
house  in  the  few  minutes  which  elapsed 
before  the  curtain  rose. 

"I  recognize  a  great  many  familiar 
faces,"  she  said,  dropping  it  and  turning 
to  Colonel  Danesford.  "  What  a  very 
small  world  this  is  which  we  inhabit, 
after  all !  Does  it  not  strike  you  so  ?  If 
one  were  to  attempt  to  escape  from  the 
orbit  of  one's  acquaintance,  it  would 
hardly  be  possible  to  do  so." 

"  Not  for  you,  certainly,"  he  answered, 
smiling ;  "  at  least,  not  in  Europe.  Per- 
haps in  Australia  or  America  you  might 
appear  without  finding  some  one  whom 
you  knew ;  but  I  should  think  it  doubt- 
ful." 

Her  face  changed  a  little  when  he 
mentioned  America. 

"  I  have  no  disposition  to  make  the 
experiment,"  she  said.  "  I  like  to  live  in 
the  heart  of  civilization,  not  on  its  out- 
skirts. In  Europe  tie  higher  classes  are 
so  thoroughly  cosmopolitan  and  so  very 
migratory,  that,  after  a  while,  one  will 
find  little  difference  between  society  in 
St.  Petersburg  and  London,  or  Paris  and 
Vienna." 

The  curtain  rose  as  she  spoke,  and 
she  turned  her  attention  to  the  stage ;  for 
everybody  who  knew  Mrs.  Trafford  at 
all  knew  that  she  was  so  far  unfashion- 
able that  she  never  went  to  an  opera  but 
as  a  genuine  and  devoted  lover  of  music. 

This  evening,  however,  she  found  it 


AFTER   TEN  YEARS. 


127 


impossible  to  preserve  her  usual  atten- 
tion, for  before  the  end  of  the  first  act 
her  box  was  filled. 

The  first  person  who  appeared  was 
Mr.  Grantham,  a  blond  young  diplomate, 
who  was  by  no  means  pleased  to  find  his 
most  formidable  rival  in  possession  of  the 
field.  Following  him  came  a  Frenchman 
of  rank,  who  desired  to  renew  his  ac- 
•  quaintance  with  "  la  lelle  madame." 
Then  appeared  another  Englishman,  and 
then  an  attache  of  the  Italian  embassy. 
Altogether,  it  was  very  evident  that  Mrs. 
Trafford's  popularity  was  not  likely  to 
wane  in  London. 

In  a  box  just  opposite  her  own,  a 
party,  consisting  of  two  ladies  and  a  gen- 
tleman, were  meanwhile  discussing  her 
eagerly.  The  younger  of  the  ladies  was 
a  rather  pretty,  brown-haired  girl,  very 
elaborately  dressed,  who  scarcely  paid 
any  attention  to  the  great  prima-donna, 
so  absorbed  was  she  in  watching  Mrs. 
Trafford. 

"  She  is  by  far  the  most  beautiful 
woman  I  have  seen  since  I  came  abroad 
— I  am  not  sure  that  she  is  not  the  most 
beautiful  woman  I  ever  saw ! "  she  said, 
enthusiastically.  "If  I  were  a  man,  I 
should  fall  down  and  worship  her." 

"  That  is  going  a  little  too  far,  Nelly," 
said  the  other  lady;  "but  I  should  like 
to  know  who  she  is." 

"  She  is  a  countess,  no  doubt,"  replied 
Nelly.  "  Very  likely  she  is  a  duchess,  or 
perhaps  she  is  a  foreign  princess.  She  is 
not  dressed  like  an  Englishwoman." 

"  Why  not  a  royal  princess  ? "  suggest- 
ed the  gentleman,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  am 
afraid  you  will  let  your  imagination  soar 
so  high,  Nelly,  that  it  will  have  a  grievous 
fall  when  you  discover  who  your  beauty 
is." 

"I  wish  there  was  some  one  to  tell 
us !  "  said  Nelly,  impatiently.  "  How 
unpleasant  it  is  to  be  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  place,  when  one  wants  to  know 
anything! — "Walter,  don't  you  think  you 
might  step  into  the  next  box  and  in- 
quire?" 


"  I  am  not  ambitious  of  being  regard- 
ed as  an  escaped  lunatic,"  replied  Walter, 
calmly.  "  Suppose  you  stop  talking  for 
a  little  while,  and  listen  to  the  '  King  of 
Thule.' " 

"  A  king  there  was  in  Thule, 
Kept  troth  unto  the  grave," 

the  silvery  voice  of  Marguerite  was  sing- 
ing, whgn  the  box-door  opened  and  two 
men  walked  in. 

One  was  English,  unmistakably — tall, 
well-developed  figure,  florid  face,  mutton- 
chop  whiskers;  the  other  was  slender, 
dark-eyed,  and  handsome,  a  man  on  whom 
the  stamp  of  ~blase  was  plainly  set,  and 
who  looked  every  day  of  his  thirty-five 
years. 

"  0  Mr.  Marchmont,  what  a  pleasant 
surprise !  "  cried  Nelly  Paget.  "  You  said 
you  could  not  possibly  come,  so  I  had 
no  hope  of  seeing  you." 

"  I  found  the  attraction  beyond  my 
powers  of  resistance,"  answered  the  last- 
described  gentleman,  advancing,  "so  I 
have  not  only  come  myself,  but  I  have 
brought  Bowling  with  me." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  Mr.  Bowling," 
said  Miss  Paget,  frankly.  "You  re- 
marked, the  other  day,  that  you  knew 
everybody  in  London — at  least  by  sight," 
she  added,  turning  to  Mr.  Bowling. 
"  You  are  just  in  time,  therefore,  to  tell 
me  the  name  of  the  most,  beautiful  wom- 
an I  have  ever  seen.  She  is  in  the  box 
opposite." 

"  Since  I  was  sufficiently  ill-advised  to 
make  such  a  boast,  it  is  as  likely  as  not 
that  you  have  pitched  upon  some  one  I 
do  not  know,"  replied  Mr.  Bowling,  tak- 
ing from  her  hand  the  glass  she  offered. 
"  Where  is  this  beauty  to  be  seen?  " 

"In  the  box  opposite — immediately 
across  the  house.  As  if  you  could  mis- 
take ! " 

"  Tastes  differ,  you  know,"  said  Mr. 
Bowling,  calmly.  "  Just  opposite —  By 
Jove !  you  are  right.  That  woman  is  a 
beauty — and  a  famous  one !  I  have  never 
seen  her  in  London  before,  but  she  is 


128 


AFTER  MAXY  DAYS. 


well  known  on  the  Continent.  That  is 
Mrs.  Trafford." 

"Mr*.  Trafford !  "  echoed  Nelly,  crest- 
fallen. "  Not  a  princess — not  even  a  count- 
ess, then?" 

"  Not  unless  princesses  and  countess- 
es are  made  by  right  divine.  In  that  case 
she  might  be  one.  She's  regal — isn't  she  ? 
And,  since  you  admire  her  so  much, 
you  may  be  glad  to  hear  that  you  can 
claim  her  as  a  countrywoman." 

"  A  countrywoman — of  mine  ?  "  said 
Nelly,  incredulously. 

"  So  I  have  heard ;  but  I  don't  think 
anybody  knows  much  of  her  antecedents. 
She  is  a  widow — young,  rich,  beautiful, 
clever.  That  is  enough." 

"I  am  sure  it  ought  to  be.  What 
more  would  any  one  have? — Did  you 
speak  to  me,  Mr.  Marchmont  ? " 

"I  merely  asked  Bowling  for  the 
glass,  that  I  might  look  more  closely  at 
this  wonderful  beauty. — Thanks  !  "  as 
Bowling  handed  it  to  him. 

Then  he  lifted  and  brought  it  to  bear 
on  the  woman  opposite. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A   SHADOW   OF    THE    PAST. 

"  You  seem  overwhelmed,  Mr.  March- 
mont," said  Miss  Paget.  "I  am  sure  I 
don't  wonder.  Isn't  she  divine  ?  " 

"  She  certainly  is  beautiful,"  answered 
MarChmont,  slowly  lowering  the  glass, 
which  for  several  minutes  he  had  kept 
leveled  on  Mrs.  Trafford.  "  Her  name  is 
familiar  to  me,"  he  went  on,  after  a  pause, 
"  and  I  thought  at  first  she  might  be  an 
old  acquaintance  of  mine ;  but,  after  look- 
ing at  her,  I  do  not  feel  as  if  such  a  thing 
were  at  all  probable." 

"I  should  not  think  there  was  any 
room  for  doubt,"  said  Bowling.  "  It 
would  hardly  be  possible  to  mistake  such 
a  face  as  that  for  any  other." 

"  The  question  is,  whether  some  other 


has  not  developed  into  this,"  said  March- 
mont, lifting  the  glass  to  his  eyes  again. 

The  more  he  gazed,  the  more  bewil- 
dered and  incredulous  he  felt.  "Was  it 
within  the  range  of  possibility  that  "little 
Amy  Reynolds"  had  been  transformed 
into  this  ?  Such  a  change  seemed  to  him 
absolutely  incredible.  He  sent  his  mem- 
ory back  over  the  decade  of  years  past, 
and  tried  to  summon  up  a  picture  of  the 
girl  with  whom  he  had  idly  trifled  when 
younger  and  more  disposed  for  trifling 
than  at  present.  But  he  could  not  re- 
call anything  tangible,  try  as  he  would. 
The  recollection  of  that  youthful  episode 
had  been  so  persistently  banished,  and  so 
entirely  swept  away  by  other  impressions, 
that,  beyond  a  vague  idea  of  a  sparkling, 
Hebe  face,  the  personality  of  Amy  Rey- 
nolds had  wholly  faded  from  his  mind. 

"  It  is  impossible !  "  he  finally  decided. 
"  It  is  a  mere  coincident  of  name." — Then 
he  said  aloud  to  Bowling:  "  There  is 
another  very  pretty  woman  in  the  same 
box — a  pure  blonde.  "Who  is  she  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  her  at  all,"  Bowling 
answered.  "  It's  a  new  face.  Very  love- 
ly— don't  you  think  so,  Miss  Paget  ? " 

"  I  dare  say  I  should  think  so,  if  the 
other  peerless  creature  was  not  in  view," 
Miss  Paget  replied. 

"It  is  seldom  that  one  woman  ac- 
knowledges another  woman's  beauty  so 
frankly,"  said  Marchmont,  turning  to  the 
girl  with  a  smile. 

"  I  was  never  envious  of  beauties — 
perhaps  I  made  up  my  mind  early  to  the 
fact  that  I  had  no  beauty  myself — but 
even  if  I  were  inclined  that  way,  I  should 
consider  that  woman  far  beyond  the  pale 
of  jealousy,"  she  answered. 

"No  beauty  yourself!  "  he  repeated. 

" '  0  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  oursels  as  ithers  see  us ! ' 

You  might  change  your  mind  on  that 
point,  and  not  malign  your  fairy  god- 
mother so  much." 

"Oh,  I  have  estimated  myself  very 
exactly,"  she  said.  "I  know  so  well 


A  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST. 


129 


what  I  am — especially  in  the  matter  of 
looks — that  not  even  your  flattery,  Mr. 
Marchmont,  can  turn  my  head." 

"  I  know  that  you  are  a  very  remark- 
able young  lady  in  more  ways  than  one," 
said  Marchmont,  in  a  low  tone. 

It  was  a  tone  which  thrilled  Nelly 
Paget's  heart,  and  deepened  the  color  on 
her  cheeks.  Despite  her  better  judgment 
— for  she  was  a  girl  of  strong  common- 
sense — her  fancy  was  very  much  taken 
captive  by  this  handsome,  llase  man  of  the 
world,  and  she  was  almost  ready  to  resign 
herself  and  her  fortune  into  his  hands. 

That  she  was  the  possessor  of  a  for- 
tune, followed  as  a  matter  of  course, 
since  she  was  honored  by  Mr.  March- 
mont's  attentions ;  for  we  find  that  dis- 
tinguished gentleman  as  we  left  him — a 
fortune-hunter. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however, 
that  in  this  interval  of  time  he  had  not 
achieved  partial  success  in  his  quest. 
"Within  twelve  months  after  the  "Waldron 
fiasco,  he  married  an  heiress  of  uncertain 
wealth  and  more  uncertain  temper,  whose 
friends  settled  her  fortune  upon  her  so 
tightly  that  during  her  life  it  was  more 
of  an  exasperation  than  an  assistance  to 
her  husband,  and  at  her  death — she  lived 
six  years  and  died  childless — it  returned 
to  her  family. 

Thus,  as  he  felt,  providentially  re- 
lieved, Mr.  Marchmont,  who  had  mean- 
while made  some  reputation  in  public 
life,  decided  to  be  more  cautious  in  his 
next  matrimonial  venture.  His  ambition 
was  as  great  as  ever,  though  he  had  by 
no  means  sustained  his  early  promise ; 
and  his  private  affairs  were  very  much 
involved,  so  that  a  short  cut  to  wealth  by 
the  road  of  marriage  commended  itself 
as  strongly  to  him  now  as  it  had  done  ten 
years  before. 

Having  gone  abroad — ostensibly  for 
his  health,  but  really  to  escape  the  mor- 
titication  of  a  political  defeat — he  met  an 
old  friend  in  the  person  of  Walter  Paget, 
who  was  traveling  in  Europe,  accompa- 
nied by  his  wife  and  sister. 
9 


At  first  Mr.  Marchmont  scarcely  no- 
ticed the  latter,  but  he  was  presently 
struck  by  her  vivacity  and  shrewdness, 
and,  being  aware  that  she  was  by  no 
means  an  inconsiderable  heiress,  as  heir- 
esses go,  the  idea  of  marrying  her  began 
to  occur  to  him. 

It  was  an  idea  which  received  added 
force  from  certain  pecuniary  embarrass- 
ments which  were  thickening  round  him, 
and  from  the  consideration  that,  though 
Nelly  Paget  was  not  one  of  the  women 
who  prove  invaluable  allies  in  such  a  fight 
as  that  which  he  was  waging,  she  would 
at  least  assist  him  to  the  best  of  her  abil- 
ity, and  certainly  never  hinder  him  as 
his  first  wife  had  done. 

In  consequence  of  this  opinion,  de- 
liberately formed  and  deliberately  acted 
upon,  he  attached  himself  to  the  Paget 
party — that  is,  he  discovered  that  his 
route  generally  lay  in  the  same  direc- 
tion as  theirs;  and  when  they  decided 
to  leave  the  Continent  for  England,  he 
saw  no  reason  why  he  should  not  accom- 
pany them.  He  did  accompany  them, 
and  they  had  been  in  London  three  or 
four  days  when  this  rencontre  at  the 
opera  occurred.  • 

The  last  act  was  in  progress  before 
Mrs.  Trafford,  who  was  accustomed  to 
serving  as  a  target  for  stares,  observed 
the  unusual  attention  which  the  occu- 
pants of  the  opposite  box  were  paying 
her.  It  was  Mariette  who  brought  the 
fact  to  her  notice. 

"  I  do  not  think  that,  in  all  my  expe- 
rience of  staring,  I  have  ever  seen  people 
stare  as  those  over  yonder  are  doing !  " 
she  remarked  to  Colonel  Danesford,  who 
was  forced  to  content  himself  with  lean- 
ing over  her  chair,  while  Mr.  Grantham 
and  the  Italian  attache  monopolized  as 
much  attention  as  Mrs.  Trafford  chose  to 
give  them.  "Have  you  observed  how 
constantly  their  glasses  are  leveled  at  our 
box?" 

"Yes,  I  have  observed  it,"  he  an- 
swered. "  They  are  excusable  in  a  meas- 
ure, since  this  is  one  of  the  first  appear- 


130 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


ances  in  public  of  Mrs.  Trafford  and  your- 
self; but  they  should  not  forget  good- 
breeding." 

"Perhaps  they  do  not  possess  any," 
said  the  young  lady,  as  she  raised  her 
own  glass  and  turned  it  upon  the  box  in 
question,  taking  a  quick  but  keen  survey 
of  each  face.  "  Yet  they  look  as  if  they 
ought  to  possess  some,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
have  a  vague  idea  that  I  have  seen  the 
face  of  one  of  them  before — that  dark, 
handsome  man  in  front." 

"He  maybe  some  cursory  acquaint- 
ance whom  you  have  met  and  forgotten." 

"Perhaps  so,  but  Amy's  memory  is 
better  than  mine ;  in  fact,  it  is  so  good 
that  she  never  forgets  a  face.  I  will  ask 
her  if  she  knows  him." 

She  bent  forward  and  asked  the  ques- 
tion, and  Mrs.  Trafford  for  the  first  time 
sent  a  swift  glance  across  the  glittering 
house.  Her  eye  fell  at  once  on  the  box 
which  Mariette  indicated,  and  saw  but 
one  face  in  it — the  face  of  Brian  March- 
niont. 

On  her  part  recognition  was  instan- 
taneous. This  was  not  singular,  since 
there  had  not  only  been  no  such  change 
in  his  appearance  as  in  "hers,  but  the  im- 
pression which  he  had  made  upon  her 
life,  and  consequently  upon  her  memory, 
was  far  deeper  than  any  she  had  made 
upon  him. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  all  these  years 
that  she  had  seen  any  face  belonging  to 
the  dead  life  of  her  youth ;  and  now,  to 
see  that  face,  above  all  others,  brought 
such  a  rush  of  old  recollections  over  her, 
that  for  a  moment — only  a  moment — the 
whole  brilliant  scene  wavered  before  her 
eyes,  and  she  seemed  to  hear  the  orches- 
tra and  the  voices  on  the  stage  as  from 
an  immense  distance. 

But,  by  a  strong  effort,  she  recalled 
herself,  and,  though  unable  to  prevent  a 
variation  of  color,  she  answered  Mariette's 
question  composedly  enough.  "  No,"  she 
said,  "he  is  not  an  acquaintance  of  mine." 

Despite  her  admirable  self-control, 
something  in  the  tone  of  these  words  struck 


the  well-trained  ear  of  the  man  by  her  side. 
"  Not  an  acquaintance !  "  Mr.  Grantham 
thought.  "  But  that  is  not  saying  he  has 
not  been  an  acquaintance.  "Women  like 
madame  do  not  change  color  for  a  trifle." 

Though  she  did  not  look  again  tow- 
ard the  box  where  Marchmont  sat,  there 
was  no  doubt  that  Mrs.  Trafford  was  very 
glad  when  the  opera  ended.  The  mere 
consciousness  of  being  in  the  same  assem- 
bly with  her  old  lover  gave  her  a  sense 
of  oppression  akin  to  pain.  The  mem- 
ories that  she  had  for  years  thrust  away 
came  back  to  her  with  such  vividness, 
that  she  felt  half  inclined  to  question 
whether  all  that  had  passed  intermediate- 
ly was  not  a  dream.  Wealth,  triumph, 
homage,  luxury  —  all  seemed  just  now 
less  real  than  the  recollections  which  she 
hated,  yet  could  not  banish. 

These  recollections,  however,  cast  no 
shade  over  her  beautiful  face,  when,  af- 
ter the  opera,  she  entertained  Grantham, 
Danesford,  and  a  few  other  privileged 
visitors,  at  the  most  recherche  of  suppers. 
She  was,  on  the  contrary,  even  more 
brilliant,  more  audacious,  more  charm- 
ing than. usual;  and  Danesford,  at  least, 
fell  more  deeply  and  hopelessly  in  love 
than  ever. 

But  when  all  was  over,  the  last  guest 
gone,  Mariette  bidden  good-night,  and 
silk  and  lace  and  jewels  laid  aside,  Mrs. 
Trafford,  in  a  role  de  chambre  hardly  less 
becoming  than  the  toilet  she  had  taken 
off,  sat  in  a  deep  chair  before  her  mir- 
ror, and,  while  her  maid  combed  out  the 
abundant  masses  of  her  hair,  allowed  her- 
self for  the  first  time  to  consider  the 
meeting  of  the  evening  and  all  that  might 
result  from  it. 

"It  is  strange,"  she  thought,  "that 
my  strong  instinct  against  what  Mari- 
ette calls  '  English  -  speaking  countries ' 
sh&uld  be  justified  by  my  meeting,  be- 
fore I  have  been  in  London  a  week,  the 
first  person  associated  with  the  past 
whom  I  have  met  all  these  years.  I  am 
not  a  fatalist,  but  it  seems  to  me  almost 
more  than  strange !  If  that  man  enters 


A  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST. 


131 


my  life  again,  it  must  be  for  a  purpose — 
it  must  be  that  I  may  deal  back  to  him 
what  he  dealt  to  me  long  ago.  But  I 
have  no  desire  for  anything  of  the  kind. 
I  would  rather  forget  that  he  exists.  To 
see  him,  to  speak  to  him,  to  recall  the 
hateful  memory  of  that  time,  would  be 
unspeakably  painful  to  me.  I  am  almost 
coward  enough  to  think  of  leaving  Lon- 
don. But  that  would  not  do,  for  it  would 
look  as  if  I  shrank  from  meeting  him; 
and  I  have  no  reason  to  do  that.  I 
scarcely  think  he  will  venture  to  seek 
me  out.  If  he  does,  the  consequences 
must  be  on  his  own  head. — That  will  do, 
Celine,"  she  said  to  her  maid.  "  Put  up 
my  hair,  and  let  me  go  to  bed ;  I  am 
tired." 

If  Marchmont  had  been  puzzled  in  the 
opera-house  to  decide  whether  Mrs.  Traf- 
f ord  could  be  Amy  Keynolds,  he  was  still 
more  puzzled,  still  more  uncertain,  after- 
ward. He  decided  again  and  again  that 
such  a  thing  was  impossible,  only  to  find 
his  mind  going  back  over  the  same  ground 
and  debating  the  same  question. 

Directly  or  indirectly,  he  had  never 
heard  of  Amy  after  he  received  the  news 
of  her  marriage  to  Mr.  Trafford.  Now 
and  then  he  had  given  her  a  stray  thought, 
and  wondered  a  little  what  had  become 
of  her,  but  no  rumor  concerning  her  had 
reached  his  ears;  and  it  seemed,  there- 
fore, too  wild  an  idea  for  probability  that 
the  music-teacher's  penniless  daughter 
should  have  bloomed  into  a  social  celeb- 
rity in  the  first  capitals  of  Europe. 

Nevertheless,  he  could  "not  banish 
from  his  mind  the  perfect  face,  the  daz- 
zling presence,  the  high-bred  grace  of  the 
woman  whom  he  had  seen  at  the  opera. 

Before  parting  with  Bowling,  he  ex- 
tracted from  that  gentleman  all  the  infor- 
mation of  which  he  was  possessed  con- 
cerning her ;  and  this  information,  meagre 
as  it  was,  filled  'him  with  a  vague  sense 
of  aspiration.  "What  a  prize  was  here  for 
a  man  who  should  be  bold  enough  to 
grasp  it!  Following  this  thought  came 


another,  "Why  should  not  I  be  the 
man?" 

Diffidence  of  their  power  to  please 
any  and  every  woman  is  not.  a  failing  of 
men  in  general,  nor  was  it  a  failing  of 
Marchmont  in  particular ;  yet  he  was  able 
to  appreciate  the  presumption  involved 
in  this  idea.  He  remembered  the  appear- 
ance of  the  men  whom  he  had  seen  sur- 
rounding Mrs.  Trafford,  and  he  knew  that 
to  rival  such  men  successfully  would  be 
no  trifling  task. 

Nor  was  it  a  task  to  which  he  serious- 
ly thought  of  setting  himself.  He  only 
thought  that,  if  circumstances  should 
throw  him  in  the  path  of  the  fair  widow, 
he  would  feel  inclined  to  put  forth  all  his 
energy — to  stake  everything  —  on  the 
chance  of  winning  her. 

"Unless  I  am  mistaken,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  she  is  mistress  of  a  fascination 
which  would  soon  make  a  man  forget 
everything  but  herself. '  I  should  like  to 
come  in  contact  with  such  a  woman !  I 
have  never  yet  met  one  capable  of  inspir- 
ing that  species  of  worship  which  borders 
on  infatuation,  and  it  would  be  something 
to  feel,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  a  new  sen- 
sation." 

"  Did  you  dream  of  my  beauty  of  the 
opera  last  night,  Mr.  Marchmont  ?  "  was 
Nelly  Paget's  first  question  when  they 
met  at  breakfast  the  next  morning.  "/ 
did.  I  dreamed  that  she  turned  out  to 
be  the  princess  I  thought  her  first,  and 
that  she  came  and  took  me  to  drive  in  a 
green-and-gold  chariot." 

"  I  did  not  dream  of  her,  but  of  the 
person  who  I  fancied  she  might  be," 
Marchmont  answered.  "  I  mean  "  —  as 
Miss  Paget  lifted  her  eyebrows  interroga- 
tively— "  that  I  dreamed  of  a  girl  I  knew 
long  ago  who  became  Mrs.  Trafford,  and 
who,  therefore,  I  fancied  last  night  this 
Mrs.  Trafford  might  be." 

"But,  as  Mr.  Bowling  said,"  observed 
Mrs.  Paget,  "how  could  you  possibly  be 
in  doubt?  One  sees  such  a  face  so  sel- 
dom—" 


132 


AFTER   MANY   DAYS. 


"I  was  in  doubt  because  the  girl 
whom  I  knew  married  very  young,  and  a 
deluge  has  passed  over  my  memory  of 
her  face^'^he  answered,  carelessly.  "I 
only  know  that  she  was  very  pre.tty,  and 
gave  promise  of  greater  beauty." 

"I  suppose  you  were  in  love  with 
her,"  said  Walter  Paget,  breaking  an  egg 
with  the  serious  air  which  the  operation 
demanded. 

"Hardly  that,"  Marchmont  replied. 
"  But  we  amused  ourselves  with  tolerable 
satisfaction  to  each  other  for  a  short  time. 
I  have  not  heard  of  her,  however,  in  quite 
ten  years.  She  may  be  dead,  or  widowed, 
for  aught  I  know." 

"What  was  her  name?"  asked  Miss 
Paget,  with  interest.  "  Perhaps  your 
'  early  love  with  her  primrose  face ' — had 
she  a  primrose  face  ? — and  Mrs.  Traffbrd 
may  be  the  same.  If  so,  how  delightful ! 
On  the  score  of  your  old  flirtation  you 
can  claim  acquaintance,  and  introduce  me. 
By-the-by,  did  you  flirt  with  her,  or  did 
she  flirt  with  you  ?  " 

"  Nelly !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Paget. 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  the  question," 
said  Nelly,  calmly.  "In  flirting,  as  in 
everything  else,  one  party  is  generally 
active  and  the  other  passive;  in  other 
words,  one  is  the  flirter  and  the  other  the 
flirtee. — Which  were  you  in  this  case,  Mr. 
Marchmont  ?  " 

Marchmont  was  far  past  the  age  of 
blushing — from  a  sense  of  guilt  or  any 
other  reason — but  he  anathematized  Miss 
Paget  in  his  mind,  while  he  answered,  as 
composedly  as  possible : 

"Of  course  I  was  the  flirtee.  From 
my  trusting  nature  I  could  never  possibly 
be  anything  else." 

"  How  odd  that  truthfulness  of  nature 
is  one  of  the  last  traits  with  which  I 
should  have  thought  of  crediting  you ! " 
said  Miss  Paget,  amid  a  general  laugh; 
"  but,  of  course,  you  know  yourself  best. 
You  have  not  yet  told  me,  however, 
the  name  of  the  girl  who  flirted  with 
you  ? " 

"  I  did  not  exactly  make  the  statement 


so  broad  as  that,"  said  Marchmont,  anath- 
ematizing this  very  inquisitive  young 
lady  more  and  more.  "Her  name  was 
Reynolds — Amy  Reynolds." 

"Amy  Reynolds?  "  repeated  Miss  Pa- 
get.  "The  name  has  a  gentle,  guileless 
sound — perhaps  because  it  resembles  Amy 
Robsart.  Notwithstanding  your  truthful- 
ness of  nature,  Mr.  Marchmont,  I  am 
afraid  you  were  not  the  flirtee  in  that 
affair." 

"  To  a  judgment  pronounced  on  such 
accurate  grounds  I  cannot  possibly  de- 
mur," said  Marchmont,  smiling. 

"  Intuition  is  sometimes  a  short  road 
to  the  truth,"  said  she,  looking  at  him 
with  eyes  full  of  a  laughing  challenge  to 
contradict  her. 

But  Mr.  Paget  interposed  here  with 
some  plan  for  the  day's  amusement,  and 
the  conversation,  to  Marchmont's  relief, 
took  another  turn. 

A  day  or  two  passed  without  the  Pa- 
get  party  seeing  or  hearing  anything  more 
of  Mrs.  Traffbrd.  Their  next  glimpse  of 
her  was  obtained  in  the  Park,  where  they 
were  sitting  one  afternoon,  when  a  quiet 
but  handsomely-appointed  park-phaeton 
drew  up  near  the  railing  immediately  in 
frent  of  their  chairs. 

"  Oh,  look — there  she  is !  "  Nelly  ex- 
claimed, eagerly. — :"Now  you  can  see, 
Mary  "  —  this  to  her  sister  -  in  -  law  — 
"  whether  she  is  not  as  lovely  by  daylight 
as  by  artificial  light." 

"My  dear  Nelly,  if  you  don't  take 
care  she  will  hear  you  ? "  Mrs.  Paget  ex- 
postulated. "  You  know  I  only  said  that 
it  was  difficult  to  tell  anything  about  a 
woman's  real  beauty,  when  you  have 
only  seen  her  at  night  across  an  opera- 
house." 

"  Well,  now  you  can  tell  how  real  her 
beauty  is ! "  said  Nelly,  triumphantly. 
"  She  looks  even  more  handsome  than  she 
did  the  other  night." 

This  was  a  slight  exaggeration,  per- 
haps ;  but  Mrs.  Traffbrd  certainly  looked 
very  handsome,  in  a  carriage-costume  of 
pearl-gray  silk,  her  fair  face  framed  by 


AT   LAST! 


one  of  the  most  graceful  hats  ever  fash- 
ioned in  Paris,  from  which  a  soft,  curling 
plume  drooped  on  the  rich  masses  of  her 
chestnut  hair. 

Mariette's  costume,  though  less  rich, 
was  not  less  elegant,  and  its  spring-like 
tints  suited  her  delicate  loveliness,  which 
suggested  all  things  fresh  and  dainty. 

It  would  have  been  difficult  to  find  two 
more  beautiful  faces  in  all  that  stream  of 
equipages,  and  the  loungers  of  the  Kow 
manifested  their  appreciation  by  stares 
and  comments  uttered  to  each  other. 

Among  these  loungers  were  several 
of  Mrs.  Trafford's  acquaintances,  who  soon 
gathered  round  her  carriage;  and  it 
chanced  that  one  of  them,  in  a  tone  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  Nelly  Paget,  spoke 
to  or  of  "  Miss  Reynolds." 

The  girl  started  and  turned  to  March- 
mont,  who  was  standing  near,  but  who, 
in  talking  to  a  friend  whom  he  had  en- 
countered, had  not  observed  the  dra wing- 
up  of  Mrs.  Trafford's  equipage. 

"  Mr.  Marchmont,"  she  said,  quickly, 
"did  you  hear  that?  One  of  those  gen- 
tlemen called  the  young  lady  with  Mrs. 
Trafford  '  Miss  Reynolds ! '  " 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  said  Marchmont, 
turning  eagerly.  "How  do  you  know 
that  he  was  alluding — " 

Then  he  stopped,  for  he  suddenly 
caught  sight  of  the  carriage  and  its  occu- 
pants— of  Mariette's  exquisite  face  under 
the  shade  of  her  rose-lined  parasol,  and  of 
Mrs.  Traflford,  leaning  back — 

"  With  that  regal,  indolent  air  she  had, 
So  confident  of  her  charm." 

"  There  was  no  room  for  mistake,"  said 
Miss  Paget;  "I  heard  it  distinctly,  and 
the  young  lady  turned  in  response.  No 
doubt  she  is  Mrs.  Trafford's  sister — I 
think  I  see  some  resemblance  hetween 
the  two — and  no  doubt,  also,  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford is  your  early  love.  Do,  Mr.  March- 
mont, go  and  claim  her  acquaintance,  and 
say  that  you  have  a  friend  you  would 
like  to  present." 

She  looked  up  in  his  face,  half  laugh- 


ing, half  in  earnest — wholly  persuasive ; 
hut  Marchmont  felt  more  singularly  moved 
by  this  discovery  than  he  could  have 
imagined  possible.  There  was  something 
so  strange  in  finding,  thus  elevated  above 
him,  the  girl  he  had  patronized  and  trifled 
with,  that  for  once  his  ease  and  readiness 
in  any  emergency  failed. 

"I  cannot  venture  to  claim  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford's acquaintance  on  a  mere  supposi- 
tion," he  said ;  "  but  I  will  go  nearer  to 
the  carriage  and  see  if  she  recognizes  mo 
at  all." 

He  advanced  to  the  rails  as  he  spoke, 
and  finding  a  vacant  place  near  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford's horses,  he  took  his  position  there, 
and  calmly  fastened  his  eyes  on  the  lady's 
face. 

"We  all  know  the  magnetism  of  an  in- 
tent gaze,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Mrs. 
Trafford  glanced  toward  him  and  their 
eyes  met. 

There  was  no  wavering  of  the  color  in 
her  cheek,  no  drooping  of  the  fringed 
lids.  Her  brilliant,  dauntless  eyes  looked 
at  him  for  an  instant  as  they  might  have 
looked  at  any  other  indifferent  face ;  then 
turned  carelessly  back  to  the  man  with 
whom  she  was  talking. 

There  was  no  room  for  doubt ;  if  this 
was  Amy  Reynolds,  she  did  not  remem- 
ber, or  did  not  choose  to  recognize,  him. 
Either  idea  was  so  mortifying  to  his 
vanity  that  he  turned  and  moved  abrupt- 
ly away. 


CHAPTER  III. 
AT  LAST! 

AMONG  the  throng  in  the  Park  that 
afternoon  waa  a  man  who  stood  in  the 
rear  of  the  chairs,  leaning  against  a  tree 
while  he  regarded  with  an  air  of  calm 
attention  the  moving  stream  of  equipages, 
with  their  fair  occupants,  and  the  gor- 
geous young  men  walking  up  and  down  the 
Row,  or  lounging  in  knots  near  the  rails. 
The  sylvan  distances  of  the  Park  spread 


134 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


around,  the  emerald  foliage  and  grass 
making  a  beautiful  setting  for  the  brilliant 
picture ;  the  level  sun-rays  caught  the 
Serpentine,  as  it  gleamed  under  the  fine 
old  trees  that  fringed  it ;  and  the  air  of 
the  late  afternoon  was  delightfully  sweet 
and  balmy. 

The  man  who  observed  all  this  with 
quiet,  meditative  eyes  was  not  more  than 
twenty-eight  or  thirty — a  man  with  noth- 
ing strikingly  unconventional  in  his  ap- 
pearance, no  unmistakable  outward  sign  of 
Bohemianism  about  him — yet  who  mani- 
festly belonged  to  another  world  than  this 
which  was  on  dress-parade  before  him. 

Though  not  a  man  of  fashion,  he  was 
plainly  a  gentleman,  and  his  face  pos- 
sessed an  attraction  apart  from  its  good 
looks — though  good  looks  were  not  lack- 
ing to  it.  Men  and  women,  and  even 
children,  were  always  attracted  by  the 
frankness  of  his  gaze  and  the  genial  sweet- 
ness of  the  smile  which  often  curved  his 
heavily-bearded  lip.  His  features  were 
more  strongly  than  regularly  cut,  but 
were  not  altogether  deficient  in  grace, 
and  his  brown,  curling  hair  was  pushed 
carelessly  back  from  a  broad  open  fore- 
head. 

"  What,  Dinsmore !  is  tms  you  ?  "  said 
a  young  man,  suddenly  passing  before 
him.  "I  wasn't  aware  that  you  had  be- 
come an  lidbitue  of  the  Eow !  How  goes 
it  with  the  '  Duchess  May  ? '  " 

"  Not  very  well,"  answered  Dinsmore, 
with  a  laugh,  while  a  stout,  florid  matron 
in  brown  silk  turned  and  put  up  her  eye- 
glass to  look  at  him,  plainly  esteeming 
the  acquaintance  of  a  duchess  worth  scru- 
tinizing. "You  know,  perhaps,  that  it 
was  not  finished  in  time  for  the  exhibi- 
tion. The  fact  is,  I  cannot  satisfy  myself 
with  regard  to  the  face  of  the  duchess. 
I  have  painted  in  at  least  a  dozen  faces, 
and  painted  them  out  again." 

"That's  deucedly  unpleasant,"  said 
the  other,  in  a  sympathizing  tone.  "  Per- 
haps you  will  find  a  face  here  that  will 
serve  as  an  inspiration,"  he  added,  nod- 
ding toward  the  drive. 


"  I  was  thinking  the  same  thing  my- 
self," said  Dinsmore.  "But,  although  I 
have  seen  a  score  or  two  of  lovely  and 
high-bred  faces,  I  fear  I  have  not  seen 
the  Duchess  May,  nor  any  suggestion  of 
her." 

"Yonder  is  a  duke's  daughter,  and 
one  of  the  beauties  of  the  season ;  will 
not  she  serve  as  an  inspiration  ?  " 

Dinsmore  glanced  at  the  noble  lady  in 
question,  with  that  quick,  comprehensive 
artist-glance  which  takes  in  at  once  out- 
line, coloring,  and  expression,  and  shook 
his  head. 

"  Handsome  and  commonplace,"  was 
his  uncompromising  verdict.  "  Had  she 
been  the  Duchess  May,  her  'Rhyme' 
would  never  have  been  written,  for  she 
would  have  married  Leigh  of  Leigh  in 
the  most  decorous  manner  from  the  be- 
ginning." 

"  Well,  here  comes  another  beauty 
and  belle,  par  excellence,  whose  'little 
hand  holds  muckle  gold.'  Will  she  do  ? " 

"For  the  girl  of  the  period — yes," 
answered  Dinsmore,  looking  at  the  bloom- 
ing heiress  indicated.  "  For  the  embodi- 
ment of  the  beautiful  and  the  heroic, 
which  I  need — no." 

"  Then  yonder  comes  the  woman  you 
need — Lady  Wriottan.  No  woman  in 
London  more  admired ;  and  with  reason. 
She  looks  like  the  daughter  of  a  Norman 
knight." 

"And  would  look  so  under  any  cir- 
cumstances," said  Dinsmore,  calmly.  "  A 
finely-chiseled  face,  but  as  cold  as  it  is 
haughty.  Some  cold  faces  have  possi- 
bilities of  passion  in  them;  that  face  has 
none." 

"By  Jove,  you  are  hard  to  please!  " 
said  the  other,  who,  it  may  be  explained, 
was  a  painter  also,  but  with  more  social 
pretensions  than  his  friend.  "  I  suppose, 
by-the-by,  you  have  seen  Millais's  portrait 
of  Lady  Wriottan  ?  What  do  you  think 
of  it  ? "  And  they  plunged  into  profes- 
sional talk. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  that  Dins- 
more  chanced  to  glance  up  a  minute  later, 


AT  LAST! 


135 


and  the  same  instant  he  caught  his  com- 
panion's arm  in  a  vise-like  grasp. 

"  Look  yonder,  Keade ! "  he  said. 
"  Who  is  that  lady  in  the  carriage  which 
has  just  drawn  up  by  the  rail  ? " 

Eeade  stared  round  in  not  unnatural 
bewilderment. 

"  I  see  a  great  many  carriages  and  a 
great  many  ladies,"  he  said.  "  Which  do 
you  mean  ? " 

"Look  a  little  to  the  right — there, 
Justin  front  of  that  plane-tree,"  answered 
Dinsmore,  hoarsely — "a  chestnut-haired 
woman  in  a  gray-silk  dress  and  gray  hat. 
Who  is  she  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  see  whom  you  mean,  now,  and 
I  don't  wonder  at  your  excitement — 
though  you  might  remember  that  my  arm 
is  not  made  of  India-rubber.  That  is  a 
very  famous  beauty,  my  dear  fellow,  and 
she  is  known  as  Mrs.  Trafford.  Will  she 
do  for  the  Duchess  May  ? " 

Dinsmore  did  not  seem  to  hear  the 
question,  and  Eeade  was  amazed  to  per- 
ceive that  the  color  had  faded  altogether 
out  of  his  face  as  he  gazed  at  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford like  one  entranced. 

Finally  he  drew  a  deep  breath,  and 
said  aloud,  yet  evidently  to  himself,  "  At 
last!" 

"  At  last !  "  repeated  the  other,  too  full 
of  curiosity  to  be  able  to  restrain  the 
question  which  rose  to  his  lips.  "  Is  it 
possible  you  know  Mrs.  Trafford?  " 

Dinsmore  started  at  this,  and  seemed 
to  recollect  himself. 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "I  have  never 
in  my  life  spoken  to  Mrs.  Trafford." 

" But  you've  seen  her  before? " 

"Yes,  I  have  se,en  her  before,"  he 
replied;  and,  unconsciously  to  himself, 
there  was  the  echo  of  a  pang  in  his  voice. 

"  Hers  is  a  face  one  could  not  easily 
forget,"  said  Eeade.  "  I  saw  her  in  Paris 
two  years  ago,  and  I  knew  her  at  once 
when  I  saw  her  just  now.  There's  a  fas- 
cination— a  sort  of  personal  magnetism — 
about  her  that  even  more  than  her  beauty 
serves  to  impress  her  on  the  memory.  I 
can  credit  that  she  is  a  veritable  Circe." 


"Is  that  her  reputation?"  Dinsmore 
asked,  still  gazing  with  intent,  wistful 
eyes  at  the  fair  face  so  unconscious  of  his 
scrutiny. 

"  If  you  know  anything  of  her,  I'm 
surprised  you  don't  know  that!"  the 
other  replied. 

'  I  saw  pale  kings  and  princes,  too — 

Pale  warriors,  death-pale  were  they  all ; 
They  cried,  "  La  belle  Dame  sans  nierci 
Hath  thee  in  thrall."  ' 

And  that  is  pretty  much  what  her  cap- 
tives cry,  I  believe." 

The  careless,  laughing  tone  in  which 
these  words  were  uttered  seemed  to  jar 
on  Dinsmore.  He  drew  his  brows  slight- 
ly together  and  turned. 

"Poor  Amy!  "he  said  to  himself;  but 
Eeade  did  not  catch  the  words.  Then  he 
added,  aloud :  "  I  believe  I  must  go  now ; 
you've  become  such  a  man  of  fashion  that 
I  suppose  you  have  cut  painting  for  the 
present.  But,  of  course,  I'll  be  glad  to  see 
you  whenever  you  choose  to  look  in  at 
the  studio.  Good-day !  " 

He  nodded  and  walked  away  in  the 
opposite  direction  from  Mrs.  Traff ord's 
carriage,  and  Eeade  stared  after  him  for 
a  second.  "  By  Jove,  I  believe  the  fel- 
low has  known  her,  and  has  been  badly 
hit,  too !  "  he  muttered.  "  Who  would 
have  thought  it?" 

He  strolled  on  leisurely,  and,  a  minute 
later,  was  accosted  by  a  man  whom  he 
knew  tolerably  well — the  same  Mr.  Bowl- 
ing who  was  Marchmont's  acquaintance. 

"  Well  met,  Eeade !  "  the  latter  said. 
"  You  are  the  very  man  I've  been  wishing 
to  see.  Don't  you  want  to  be  presented 
to  a  pretty,  piquant  American  girl  ?  She 
is  anxious  to  visit  some  artists'  studios, 
and,  since  I  don't  know  much  about  such 
matters,  I  want  you  to  take  her  in 
charge." 

"Thanks  for  your  kind  intention," 
answered  Eeade.  "If  she  is  sola,  I  have 
no  strong  objection  to  'taking  her  in 
charge ; '  but  if  she  is  one  of  a  squad,  P 
beg  to  decline  the  honor." 


136 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


"She  is  one  of  a  party  of  three  or 
four,  all  pleasant,  well  -  bred  people. 
Come,  don't  be  churlish!  Do  you  see 
that  brown-haired,  well-dressed  girl  sit- 
ting yonder  —  no,  more  to  the  right? 
That  is  Miss  Paget.  I'll  take  you  and 
present  you  at  once." 

There  was  something  in  the  appear- 
ance of  the  brown-haired  girl  in  question 
which  prevented  any  further  demur  on 
Keade's  part,  and  so  it  chanced  that  Nel- 
ly Paget  glanced  up  as  the  young  men 
were  approaching,  and,  recognizing  Bowl- 
ing, smiled  cordially. 

"You  find  us  quite  forsaken,  Mr. 
Bowling,"  she  said,  putting  out  a  small, 
gray-gloved  hand  as  he  paused.  "Wal- 
ter and  Mr.  Marchmont  have  both  van- 
ished, and  left  Mary  and  myself  alone.  I 
am  glad  you  have  appeared.  I  had  ever 
so  many  questions  to  ask  you  about  the 
notabilities  and  celebrities,  until  the  ap- 
pearance of  Mrs.  Trafford  put  them  all 
out  of  my  head!  Have  you  seen  her? 
Isn't  she  looking  superbly  handsome  ?  " 

"There  can't  be  two  opinions  on  that 
score,"  Bowling  answered,  smiling  at  the 
girl's  enthusiasm.  "I  have  brought  the 
artist-friend  of  whom  I  spoke  yesterday, 
to  present  to  Mrs.  Paget  and  yourself," 
he  went  on.  "  Will  you  allow  me  ?  " 

Then  the  introduction  took  place  in 
due  form,  and  Eeade  was  pleased  with  the 
fresh,  frank  young  face  lifted  toward  him. 
There  was  never  any  difficulty  in  talking 
to  Nelly  Paget,  for  she  was  clever  and 
always  self-possessed;  therefore  they 
were  soon  comparing  notes  on  the  brill- 
iant scene  before  them. 

"  Yes,  I  have  tried  the  Drive  and  the 
Row,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  a  question 
of  his,  "  but  I  think  it  is  more  amusing  to 
sit  here  and  enjoy  the  show  as  a  show.  I 
find  the  driving  tedious,  and,  as  for  the 
riding,  I  do  not  like  the  gaits  of  your 
English  horses." 

"  Nor  our  English  mode  of  riding, 
jperhaps?" 

"  I  did  not  care  to  say  that,  but  I  con- 
fess I  thought  it.  To  the  eye  of  one  not 


accustomed  to  it,  the  English  manner  of 
riding  is  not  graceful." 

"  I  have  heard  that  charge  made  be- 
fore. In  fact,  it  has  only  been  a  few 
minutes  since  I  parted  with  one  of  your 
countrymen  who  does  not  hesitate  to  de- 
clare that  the  English  mode  of  riding  is 
only  remarkable  for  awkwardness." 

"  One  of  my  countrymen !  Will  you 
excuse  me  if  I  ask  who  it  was?  One 
meets  a  great  many  friends  unexpected- 
ly-" 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  discover  a 
friend  in  Dinsmore,  though  he  is  a  capital 
fellow.  I  have  heard  him  say  that  he  has 
been  in  Europe  ten  years,  and  he  lives 
the  life  of  a  recluse — paints  hard  all  the 
time,  and  is  steadily  advancing  in  ability 
and  success." 

"  He  is  an  artist,  then — like  yourself?  " 

The  young  man  laughed. 

"•He  is  an  artist,  but  not  at  all  like 
myself.  I  am  a  trifler  and  idler ;  he  is  a 
devoted  worker,  and  in  ten  years  more 
he  will  be  at  the  top  of  the  ladder  of 
fame.  Of  that  I'm  confident." 

"  You  are  a  very  good  friend  to  speak 
of  him  so  warmly,"  said  the  girl.  "But 
will  you  excuse  me  if  I  say  that  I  think 
it  is  very  odd  for  you  to  talk  of  yourself 
as  '  a  trifler  and  idler  ? ' " 

"It  is  generally  well  to  speak  the 
truth,  is  it  not?" 

"  But  I  meant  that  it  is  odd  it  should 
le  the  truth.  How  can  a  man  with  such 
a  talent  neglect  it? — how  can  he  have 
such  a  profession  and  fail  to  feel  enthusi- 
asm for  it  ? " 

"  Why  are  original  sin  and  idleness  and 
general  depravity  in  the  world,  Miss  Pa- 
get  ?  "  asked  he,  smiling.  "  It  is  a  shame 
for  a  man  to  shrink  from  the  drudgery 
of  his  profession;  but  some  of  us  do, 
nevertheless.  I  am  glad,  however,  that 
the  guild  of  artists  has  found  favor  in 
your  eyes." 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  artists,"  she  said, 
frankly.  "They  are  generally  original, 
unconventional,  and  strikingly  unlike  the 
men  one  meets  in  ordinary  society." 


AT   LAST! 


137 


"May  I  venture  to  bow?  I  flatter 
myself  that  I  am  all  those  things." 

<k  I  don't  think  you  need  trouble  your- 
self," she  replied,  coolly.  "  I  should  never 
have  suspected  that  you  were  an  artist  if 
I  had  not  been  told  so." 

"I  suppose,  then,  that  I  am  not  un- 
conventional enough.  I  should  wear  a 
velvet  coat  and  a  sombrero,  and  let  my 
hair  grow  long — should  I  ?  " 

He  did  not  intend  to  be  impertinent, 
but  in  a  moment  he  saw  that  he  had  let 
flippancy  carry  him  too  far.  Miss  Paget's 
face  grew  cold  and  haughty. 

"I  am  sorry  that  you  are  unable  to 
distinguish  between  genuine  unconven- 
tionality  and  affected  Bohemianism,"  she 
said.  Then  she  turned  her  graceful,  silk- 
en-clad shoulder  deliberately  upon  him. 
— "  Mary,  what  can  have  become  of  Mr. 
Marchmont?"  she  asked.  "He  went 
near  the  rails  to  see  if  Mrs.  Trafford 
would  recognize  him,  and  since  then  he 
has  unaccountably  vanished." 

"I  am  sure  I  have  no  idea  of  what 
became  of  him,"  said  Mrs.  Paget,  looking 
placidly  round. 

"  Has  he  discovered  yet  whether  or 
not  Mrs.  Trafford  is  his  old  acquaint- 
ance? "  asked  Bowling. 

"He  is  not  certain,  but  he  is  strongly 
inclined  to  think  that  she  is,"  answered 
Nelly.  "  His  acquaintance  was  a  Miss 
Reynolds,  and  I  heard  some  one  call  the 
young  lady  who  is  with  Mrs.  Trafford 
Miss  Reynolds — which  is  a  singular  co- 
incidence, to  say  the  least." 

"The  young  lady  certainly  is  Miss 
Reynolds,  and  she  also  certainly  is  Mrs. 
Trafford's  sister,"  said  Bowling.  "I 
learned  that  not  long  ago.  So  the  evi- 
dence of  identity  is  complete." 

*'  Mrs.  Trafford  seems  to  have  an  army 
of  old  as  well  as  of  new  acquaintances," 
said  Reade.  "  I  was  standing  with  Dins- 
more — who  is  one  of  the  very  last  men  I 
should  have  suspected  of  knowing  a 
woman  of  her  stamp — when  she  drove 
up,  and  he  was  very  much  struck  by  her 
appearance,  evidently  knew  her  at  once, 


but  did  not  know  her  name — at  least,  her 
present  name." 

"  What !  the  artist  of  whom  you  were 
speaking  a  moment  ago  ? "  said  Nelly, 
turning  round  with  complete  forgetfulness 
of  her  vexation.  "Did  he  tell  you  any- 
thing about  her  ? — who  she  was  ? — when 
or  where  he  had  known  her?  " 

"  Not  a  word ;  and  it  is  really  mere 
supposition  on  my  part  that  he  ever  knew 
her  at  all.  He  said  that  he  did  not  know 
her — that  he  had  only  seen  her  before  ; 
but  there  was  something  so  unusual  in 
his  manner,  that  I  was  inclined  to  suspect 
that  his  acquaintance  had  been  closer  than 
he  cared  to  acknowledge." 

"  But  why  should  he  hesitate  to  ac- 
knowledge it  ?  "  demanded  Nelly.  "  "What 
a  very  mysterious  lady  Mrs.  Trafford  ap- 
pears to  be ! " 

"It's  hardly  fair,  to  bring  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford in  guilty  of  mystery  because  Dins- 
more  chooses  to  be  reticent,"  said  Reade. 
"  A  propos  of  Dinsmore,  have  you  seen 
his  pictures  &t  the  Academy,  Miss  Paget  ? 
They've  been  a  good  deal  noticed." 

"I  have  been  to  the  exhibition,"  Nelly 
answered,  "  but  I  am  not  sure  that  I  ob- 
served the  pictures  you  mean,  unless  you 
tell  me  the  subjects." 

"The  one  which  has  been  most  ad- 
mired is  really  admirable.  It  is  called, 
with  an  irony  which  even  a  German  could 
hardly  fail  to  understand,  '  Die  Wacht  am 
Rhein.' " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember  it,"  the  girl 
said.  "  It  represents  a  noble  old  French 
chateau  which  the  Prussians  are  ap- 
proaching, while  in  the  distance  appear 
the  flames  of  a  burning  village.  Nothing 
could  be  finer  than  the  spirit  of  the  whole 
picture,  especially  the  hatred  and  scorn 
on  the  face  of  the  lady,  who  stands  like 
a  very  Marguerite  of  Anjou  in  the  fore- 
ground, with  her  trembling  children  and 
terrified  servants  round  her." 

"  It  is  a  scene  from  life,  for  Dinsmore 
was  in  France  during  the  war,  and  the 
face  of  the  lady  is  a  portrait.  The  other 
picture  is  simply  called  'Wild-flowers,' 


138 


AFTER   MANY   DAYS. 


and  represents  a  woodland  glen  with  two 
figures — " 

"Excuse  my  interrupting  you,"  Miss 
Paget  cried,  eagerly,  "but  I  remember 
that  as  well  as  possible,  because  it  is  a 
Southern  scene  in  every  feature. — Mary, 
don't  you  recollect  how  I  clapped  my 
hands  when  I  recognized  the  live-oak  and 
the  yellow  jasmine  ? "  . 

"  Indeed  I  do !  "  replied  Mrs.  Paget — 
"and  how  the  people  around  stared  at 
you  as  if  you  were  crazy." 

"I  have  been  intending,  ever  since,  to 
go  back  and  look  at  that  picture  again," 
the  young  lady  went  on.  "I  shall  cer- 
tainly do  so  now." 

"  Allow  me  the  pleasure  of  attending 
you,  will  you  not?"  asked  Eeade.  "I 
shall  be  most  happy;  and,  since  I  know 
the  exhibition  thoroughly,  I  may  be  able 
to  find  out  a  few  things  that  have  escaped 
your  notice." 

"That  will  be  delightful!"  said  the 
girl,  with  her  pleasant  frankness. — 
"  Mary,  have  we  any  engagement  for  to- 
morrow ? " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  answered  Mrs. 
Paget.  "  "Walter  and  Mr.  Marchmont  may 
have  made  some  arrangement  for  us,  how- 
ever. We  must  consult  them  before  we 
settle  anything — and  here  they  are." 

The  two  truants  appeared,  with  no 
traces  of  guilt  on  their  countenances; 
but  Marchmont  seemed  a  trifle  surprised 
to  see  a  good-looking  young  fellow,  with 
a  flower  in  his  button-hole,  talking  to 
Nelly  Paget  as  if  he  had  known  her  an 
age.  It  roused  him  to  a  realization  of 
the  fact  that  even  here  snares  might  be 
cast  for  a  pretty  young  heiress,  and  that 
he  was  not  making  as  good  use  of  his 
opportunities  as  prudence  seemed  to  de- 
mand that  he  should. 

"I  really  thought  you  had  deserted 
us,"  she  said,  turning  to  him  with  a  smile. 
"  Is  Mrs.  Trafford  a  sorceress,  and  did  she 
spirit  you  away? — or  what  became  of 
you  so  suddenly  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Trafford  is  not  in  the  least  a 
sorceress,"  he  answered,  quietly.  "I  did 


not  think  the  occasion  suitable  for  claim- 
ing her  acquaintance,  so  I  took  a  turn 
with  a  friend  whom  I  chanced  to  meet. 
If  I  had  fancied  that  you  would  miss 
me—" 

"  I  don't  think  I  mentioned  anything 
about  missing  you,"  she  interposed.  "  Let 
me  introduce  Mr.  Eeade,  who  has  just  of- 
fered kindly  to  act  as  my  cicerone  at  the 
Academy  Exhibition,  where  Mary  and  I 
are  thinking  of  going  to-morrow." 

"  I  thought  we  were  going  to  "Wind- 
sor to-morrow  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  had  quite  forgotten — so  we 
are ! — Mr.  Eeade,  have  you  any  engage- 
ment for  the  next  day  ?  " 

"None  at  all,  Miss  Paget.  I  am  en- 
tirely at  your  command." 

"Then  the  next  day,  at —  But,  stay  ! 
I  must  ask  Mary." 

Consultation  with  Mrs.  Paget  resulted 
in  Mr.  Eeade's  being  asked  to  take  lunch- 
eon with  them  at  the  Langham  Hotel  on 
the  day  indicated,  after  which  they  would 
go  to  the  exhibition. 

Mr.  Eeade  having  accepted  the  invi- 
tation, Mr.  Paget  suggested  departure,  to 
which  the  ladies  acceded,  and  the  party 
separated. 

It  was  a  peculiarity  of  Nelly  Paget's 
that,  when  she  had  once  taken  an  idea 
into  her  head,  she  pursued  it  to  the  last 
extremity,  thereby  often  desperately  bor- 
ing less  enthusiastic  people  with  whom 
she  came  in  contact.  On  the  present  oc- 
casion Marchmont  hoped  that  she  would 
drop  the  subject  of  Mrs.  Trafford's  iden- 
tity ;  but  as  soon  as  they  found  themselves 
walking  side  by  side,  she  began  : 

"Mr.  Eeade  says  that  the  young  lady 
whom  we  saw  with  Mrs.  Trafford  is  Miss 
Eeynolds,  and  that  she  is  Mrs.  Trafford's 
sister;  so  that  proves  conclusively  that 
the  beautiful  widow  is  your  early  love — 
does  it  not?" 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  answered,  trying 
to  speak  carelessly,  and  not  betray  the 
irritation  which  he  felt ;  "  but  my  early 
love,  as  you  insist  on  calling  her,  did  not 
leave  such  an  agreeable  impression  upon 


IN  RICHMOND   PARK. 


139 


my  mind  that  I  should  be  anxious  to  renew 
my  acquaintance  with  her.  In  fact,  I 
hardly  think  that  I  shall  make  any  at- 
tempt to  do  so." 

"Why  not?  "  she  asked,  glancing  up 
with  a  disappointed  expression.  "  Oh,  ex- 
cuse me !  I  fear  I  am  very  rude,"  she 
added,  with  a  blush;  "but  I  do  not  un- 
derstand how  you  can  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  know  such  a  lovely  woman." 

"Can  you  not?"  said  he,  looking 
down  at  her  with  an  expression  which 
long  practice  had  taught  him  perfectly 
how  to  throw  into  his  dark,  handsome 
eyes — an  expression  which  had  done  ex- 
ecution upon  many  susceptible  hearts 
since  foolish  Amy  Eeynolds  was  beguiled 
by  it ;  "  but  suppose  there  is  only  one 
woman  in  the  world  for  whose  society  I 
care  at  present? " 

She  blushed  again,  but  answered 
readily  enough :  "  I  cannot  suppose  such 
a  thing  at  all.  Boys  of  twenty  feel  that 
way,  perhaps,  .but  not  men  of  the  world 
like  you,  Mr.  Marchmont." 

"I  am  a  man  of  the  world  in  my  ca- 
reer, but  not  in  my  feelings,"  said  he. 
"  I  should  like  you  to  believe  that." 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  make  an  act  of 
very  implicit  faith  in  it ;  but,  fortunately, 
my  opinion  does  not  matter." 

"You  know  better  than  that,"  said 
he;  "you  know  that  your  opinion  mat- 
ters to  me  above  all  other  opinions." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,  please!"  said 
she,  laughing.  "  It  really  is  not  fair. 
You  have  so  much  advantage  over  me  in 
the  matter  of  experience,  that  there  is  no 
telling  how  far  you  might  turn  my  head !  " 

"  You  are  jesting,  while  I  am  in  ear- 
nest,".said  he,  reproachfully. 

"That  is  certainly  better  than  if  you 
were  jesting  while  /was  in  earnest,"  she 
replied.  "  I  have  no  doubt  Mrs.  Trafford 
will  in  the  end  make  you  feel  that — 

'  After  all,  old  things  are  best ; ' 

and,  in  that  case,  it  would  be  awkward, 
to  say  the  least,  to  have  given  any  alle- 
giance to  the  new." 


"  The  best  way  to  make  you  under- 
stand how  absurd  such  an  idea  is,  will  be 
to  give  you  an  exact  account  of  my  for- 
mer acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Trafford,"  he 
said ;  "  that  is,  of  course,  if  you  care  to 
hear  it." 

"Don't  set  me  down  as  deplorably 
curious  if  I  .say  that  I  do  care.  The  fact 
is,  that  wonderful  face  of  hers  has  made 
such  an  impression  upon  me,  that  I 
feel  an  interest  in  everything  concerning 
her." 

"Then  I  must  understand  that  it  is 
only  on  her  account' you  feel  interest? " 

She  glanced  up,  smiling.  There  is  a 
spice  of  coquetry  in  every  daughter  of 
Eve,  and  she  was  sufficiently  heart- 
free  and  light-spirited  to  display  hers 
now. 

"  On  whose  else  should  I  feel  it? "  she 
asked.  "  Not  on  yours,  when  you  have 
just  assured  me  that  it  is  '  absurd '  to  at- 
tach any  importance  to  the  matter  as  far 
as  you  are  concerned." 

"It  certainly  is  absurd  when  you  im- 
ply that,  for  the  sake  of  a  by-gone  slight 
flirtation,  I  could  forget — " 

"  Like  a  man  !  "  she  interrupted. 
"  Never  mind,  we  won't  argue  the  mat- 
ter. You  shall  tell  me  your  story  at  the 
first  opportunity,  and  I  promise  to  give 
sympathy  where  sympathy  is  due." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN   EICHMOND  PARK. 

"AMY,"  said  Mariette,  as  they  were 
driving  out  of  the  Park,  "  I  saw  that  same 
man  this  afternoon  who  stared  at  you  so 
hard  at  the  opera  the  other  night.  Sure- 
ly you  must  have  observed  him !  He 
stood  by  the  rails  and  gazed  at  you — not 
with  an  ordinary  stare,  but  as  if  trying  to 
attract  your  attention." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him,"  answered  Mrs. 
Trafford. 

"And  don't   you  know   him?      His 


140 


AFTER   MANY   DAYS. 


face  is  oddly  familiar  to  me.  I  cannot 
place  it — I  cannot  think  where  I  ever  saw 
it ;  I  have  only  a  vague  sense  that  I  have 
seen  it  somewhere,  at  some  time." 

Mrs.  Trafford  hesitated  a  moment, 
then  said,  calmly :  "  You  are  right.  It  is 
a  face  that  you  once  saw  often  and  knew 
well.  Do  you  remember  a  man  named 
Marchmont,  who  was  in  Edgerton  when 
you  were  a  child?" 

Mariette  looked  at  her  sister  with  her 
bright  blue  eyes  opening  wide.  Allusions 
to  Edgerton  were  very  rare  from  Amy's 
lips,  and  it  was  doubtful  whether  March- 
mont's  name  had  passed  those  lips  in  all 
the  years  that  had  elapsed  since  the  old 
life  ended  so  utterly. 

"Yes,  I  remember  him,"  the  girl  re- 
plied. 

"  Well,  this  is  the  man." 

"Are  you  sure? " 

"  I  am  perfectly  sure.  He  has  changed 
very  little,  and  I  knew  him  at  once." 

"  Man  Dieu  !  "  said  Mariette,  who  had 
not  been  educated  in  Paris  for  nothing. 
"  How  strange  that  you  should  meet  him 
here !  And  do  you — will  you  recognize 
him  as  an  acquaintance  ? " 

Mrs.  Trafford  made  a  gesture  signify- 
ing indifference.  "  If  he  chooses  to  claim 
my  acquaintance,  I  shall  not  refuse  to 
recognize  him ;  but,  if  he  is  wise,  he  will 
not  attempt  anything  of  the  kind." 

Mariette's  lips  parted  as  if  she  would 
fain  have  said,  "  Why  not  ? "  but  she  had 
learned  that  her  sister  would  not  endure 
questioning  on  her  private  affairs,  and, 
not  being  very  much  interested  in  this, 
she  closed  her  lips  again,  leaving  the 
words  unspoken. 

"You  know  we  are  engaged  to  dine 
with  Lady  Gresham  this  evening,"  said 
Mrs.  Trafford,  when  they  reached  home, 
and  were  about  to  separate  for  their  re- 
spective toilets. 

Lady  Gresham  was  the  sister  of  Colo- 
nel Danesford,  who,  immediately  on  arriv- 
ing in  town,  had  called  on  the  woman 
with  whom  her  brother  was  so  infatuated. 
This  act  was  dictated  partly  by  sisterly 


regard,  partly  by  policy — for  the  beauti- 
ful, clever  widow  promised  to  achieve 
as  much  social  success  in  London  as  she 
had  done  elsewhere — and  partly  by  curi- 
osity. 

She  was  a  woman  prone  to  sudden 
fancies,  and  she  went  away  from  Mrs. 
Trafford's  house  in  a  state  of  rapture. 
From  being  a  source  of  sorrow,  her  broth- 
er's choice  suddenly  became  a  source  of 
pride  to  her.  She  congratulated  him  on 
Mrs.  Trafford's  beauty  and  grace  and 
high-bred  repose,  as  if  he  was  already 
the  possessor  of  those  charms,  and  she 
assured  her  husband  that  she  could  not 
possibly  have  chosen  better  if  the  matter 
of  choice  had  been  intrusted  to  her  hands. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  my  dear," 
said  Sir  Charles  Gresham,  who  was  a 
model  husband,  inasmuch  as  he  had  long 
since  learned  the  futility  of  disputing  the 
ideas  or  questioning  the  theories  of  his 
lively,  charming  wife.  "You  have  been 
so  much  distressed  about  the  affair,  that 
I  am  glad  you  have  found  the  devil  less 
black  than  you  painted  him — or,  perhaps, 
I  should  say  her,  in  this  case." 

"I  am  justified  in  being  distrustful," 
said  Lady  Gresham.  "  The  vague  state- 
ment, 'an  American  widow,'  gave  me  a 
dreadful  idea ;  and  then,  somebody — Mrs. 
St.  John,  I  believe — said  that  she  was 
considered  in  Florence  to  be  quite  fast. 
But  I  don't  believe  anything  of  the  kind 
now." 

Sir  Charles  looked  a  trifle  quizzical. 
"I  am  becoming  curious  to  see  her  my- 
self, since  she  has  worked  such  a  change 
in  your  sentiments,"  he  remarked. 

"  You  will  have  an  opportunity  to  do 
so  to-morrow  evening,"  Lady  Gresham 
replied.  "I  have  invited  her  to  dine — 
herself  and  her  sister." 

"She  has  a  sister,  then ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  lovely  girl." 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  company — 
though  somewhat  exceeding  the  Chester- 
fieldian  limit — which  was  assembled  in 
Lady  Gresham's  drawing-room  the  next 
evening  when  Mrs.  Trafford  and  her  sister 


IN  RICHMOND   PARK. 


entered.  The  beautiful  widow  looked 
even  more  beautiful  than  usual  in  a  gold- 
colored  silk  with  a  scarf  of  priceless  black 
lace  draped  across  its  shining  folds.  Dia- 
monds encircled  her  slender  throat,  and 
shone  in  her  ears  and  on  her  arms.  Mari- 
ette  was  like  a  vision  of  a  peri,  clad  all 
in  white  and  silver — a  costume  which  en- 
hanced her  delicate  loveliness  to  such  a 
degree  that  one  person,  at  least,  thought 
her  the  fairer  of  the  two. 

This  person  was  the  son  and  heir  of 
the  house  —  Stamer  Gresham  —  young, 
pleasant,  good-looking  as  men  go,  and 
not  altogether  devoid  of  an  idea  or 
two. 

"  By  Jove !  what  a  beauty  I  "  he  mut- 
tered under  his  mustache;  but  a  lady  to 
whom  he  had  been  talking  overheard  the 
words. 

"  Which  do  you  mean  ? "  she  asked, 
smiling,  for  she  was  old  enough  to  feel 
no  thrill  of  jealousy. 

"I  mean  the  golden-haired  blonde," 
he  answered.  "  What  a  charming  face ! 
what  an  exquisite  figure !  She  is  a  per- 
fect picture." 

"  She  certainly  is,"  said  the  lady,  ele- 
vating her  eye-glass.  "  Yet  she  cannot 
compare  with  the  other,  who  is  really  a 
superb  beauty — and  a  beauty  good  for 
thirty  years  to  come !  " 

"Immensely  rich,  too,"  said  a  gentle- 
man near.  "  A  fascinating  woman  and 
a  consummate  coquette.  I  am  afraid 
Danesford  will  come  to  grief,  as  other 
men  have  come  before  him,"  he  added, 
lowering  his  voice  as  Stamer  Gresham 
moved  away. 

"That  will  be  a  pity,"  said  the  lady, 
in  a  sympathetic  tone. 

Though  a  foreboding  to  this  effect 
often  weighed  upon  Colonel  Danesford, 
lie  could  not  feel  it  at  present.  He  took 
Mrs.  Trafford  in  to  dinner,  of  course,  and 
so  gracious  and  charming  was  that  be- 
guiling lady,  that  he  began  to  hope  more 
than  he  had  ever  hoped  before  for  a 
favorable  issue  to  his  suit. 

"I  am  so  glad  that  you  are  beginning 


to  like  England,"  he  said,  in  reply  to 
some  remark  she  made.  "  But  you  must 
not  restrict  your  knowledge  of  it  to  Lon- 
don. You  must  see  something  of  the 
English  country." 

"Yes;  when  the  London  season  is 
over,  I  think  I  shall  go  to  the  lake-coun- 
try," she  answered.  "I  spent  last  sum- 
mer in  Switzerland,  and  I  do  not  care  to 
go  back  there." 

"  I  wish  I  could  hope  to  be  your  guide 
in  Westmoreland.  I  know  it  well." 

"Then  be  my  guide — will  you  not?  " 
she  said,  smiling — and  her  companion's 
heart  leaped  under  the  magic  of  the  tone 
and  glance. 

"You  know  that,  if  you  chose  to 
command  my  services,  I  would  be  your 
guide  to  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon,"  he 
answered.  "Pending  the  lake-country, 
however,  we  must  have  a  day  at  Rich- 
mond. Have  you  been  down  there  yet? 
No?  Then  let  us  make  a  party  for  to- 
morrow, if  you  have  no  other  engage- 
ment." 

"I  have  fortunately  no  engagement 
that  matters,  and  it  will  be  very  pleas- 
ant. How  about  the  party,  though?  I 
have  rather  a  horror  of  anything  like  a 
large  number  of  people." 

"So  have  I.  Our  Roman  excursions 
were  perfect,  and,  as  Miss  Reynolds  re- 
marked, we  were  always  a  partie  carree 
there.  Shall  we  go  to  Richmond  in  the 
same  manner?" 

"  Yes ;  I  think  that  will  be  best.  Who 
shall  we  ask  to  be  fourth?  Mr.  Gran- 
tham  would  go,  no  doubt,  but — " 

"  I  was  about  to  propose  my  nephew, 
Stamer  Gresham,  for  the  honor,"  he  said, 
as  she  paused ;  "  he  is  rather  an  agreeable 
young  fellow,  and,  from  appearances,  I 
think  Miss  Reynolds  and  himself  are  in- 
clined to  be  sympathetic." 

"  Is  the  young  man  sitting  by  Mari- 
ette  your  nephew  ?"  she  asked.  "I  have 
been  wondering  a  little  who  he  was.  He 
has  an  exceedingly  pleasant  face.  He  is, 
then,  Mr.  Gresham  ?  " 

"Captain  Gresham  of  the  Guards." 


142 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


"  Tant  mieitx  !  Like  all  women,  I  am 
fond  of  soldiers." 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  sen- 
timent is  returned  by  all  soldiers  who 
have  come  under  your  spell,"  said  he, 
smiling. 

Meanwhile,  Miss  Reynolds  and  Cap- 
tain Gresham  were  developing  a  fair 
amount  of  sympathetic  tendencies.  Mari- 
ette,  notwithstanding  her  youth  and  slight 
experience,  was  by  no  means  a  novice  in 
the  art  of  beguiling,  and,  before  dinner 
was  over,  "her  sweet  eyes,  her  low  re- 
plies," had  worked  mischief  enough  in 
the  young  guardsman's  heart  and  brain. 

"I  have  often  heard  that  American 
girls  are  charming,  Miss  Reynolds,"  he 
said,  at  length;  "bnt  you  must  pardon 
me  if  I  say  that  I  had  not  the  least  idea 
how  charming  they  are  before  to-night." 

Mariette  laughed  softly.  "  I  should  be 
dull  with  a  hopeless  dullness  if  I  failed 
to  understand  what  you  mean,  Captain 
Gresham,"  she  replied.  "  That  is  a  very 
nice  compliment;  but  I  don't  know  that 
I  ought  to  appropriate  it  on  on  the  score 
of  being  an  American.  I  left  America 
when  I  was  a  very  small  child,  and  I  have 
never  seen  the  country  since." 

"  Yet  you  have  never  been  in  England 
before?" 

"No,  for  I  was  educated  and  have 
lived  altogether  on  the  Continent." 

"But  I  hope  you  like  England?" 
This  was  said  with  an  accent  which 
seemed  to  imply  that  it  was  a  matter  of 
the  utmost  importance  that  she  should 
like  it. 

"  To  be  quite  frank  with  you,  I  do  not 
like  it,  though  very  probably  I  shall  learn 
to  do  so.  It  is  said,  you  know,  that  the 
things  which  grow  upon  one  slowly  are 
the  things  which  one  likes  longest  and 
best." 

" I  am  not  at  all  sure  of  that!  Some- 
times one  conceives  the  strongest  liking 
all  in  a  minute." 

"  And  isn't  it  rather  apt  to  go  '  all  in 
a  minute,'  also  ? " 

"  I  don't  think  so ;  on  the  contrary,  I 


believe  that  it  often  lasts  longer  than  feel- 
ings based  upon  reason  and — and — things 
of  that  kind." 

She  laughed  again,  and  the  young  man 
thought  he  had  never  heard  a  sweeter 
sound. 

"  We  won't  enter  upon  a  sentimental 
discussion,"  she  said,  gayly.  "We  have 
been  told  that  the  feelings  are  '  danger- 
ous guides,'  and  that  is,  or  ought  to  be, 
enough." 

It  was  at  least  enough  just  then,  for 
Lady  Gresham  rose,  and,  with  a  rustle  of 
silken  trains,  the  ladies  swept  from  the 
room. 

When  the  gentlemen  joined  them,  the 
Richmond  party  was  definitely  arranged, 
and,  as  Captain  Gresham  handed  Mariette 
into  the  carriage  in  which  Colonel  Danes- 
ford  had  already  placed  Mrs.  Trafford,  his 
last  words  were : 

"What  a  delightful  day  we  shall  have 
to-morrow ! " 

"  If  the  sun  shines,"  Mariette  replied ; 
"  but  who  can  count  on  your  capricious 
English  climate  ?  " 

The  capricious  English  climate  was 
good  enough  to  smile  upon  them  the  next 
day,  and  the  beautiful  glades  of  Richmond 
Park  never  looked  lovelier  than  as  the 
long,  golden  spears  of  afternoon  sunlight 
streamed  into  them  and  reddened  the 
deep  beds  of  fern  where  the  deer  were 
couched. 

Having  driven  to  the  Star  and  Garter 
and  ordered  dinner,  Mrs.  Trafford  and 
her  party  were  strolling  through  the 
Park,  and,  as  was  natural  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, the  two  couples  had  wan- 
dered somewhat  apart. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  neglecting  my 
duties  as  chaperon,"  said  Mrs.  Trafford, 
waking  suddenly  to  a  realization  that  she 
had  seen  nothing  of  Mariette  for  some 
time.  "  Where  have  those  young  people 
gone  ?  This  will  not  do !  " 

"  I  think  they  turned  off  in  the  direc- 
tion of  one  of  the  lakes,"  answered  Colo- 
nel Danesford.  "Miss  Reynolds  has  dis- 


IN  RICHMOND  PARK. 


143 


covered  that  there  is  some  beauty  in  Eng- 
land, after  all,  and  Stamer  is  only  too 
glad  to  show  her  as  much  of  it  as  possi- 
ble." 

"  It  was  very  thoughtless  of  us  to  sep- 
arate in  this  way,"  said  Mrs.  Trafford, 
who  felt  a  little  vexed.  "  Had  we  not 
better  follow  them  ?  " 

"That  would  be  the  worst  possible 
way  to  find  them.  The  best  thing  to  do 
is,  to  sit  down  here  and  wait.  They  will 
come  back  presently  to  the  rou.te  from 
which  they  diverged." 

Mrs.  Trafford  hesitated.  For  various 
reasons  she  did  not  desire  an  extended 
tete-d-tete  with  her  agreeable  cavalier; 
but,  since  there  seemed  little  prospect  of 
avoiding  this  under  any  circumstances, 
her  hesitation  did  not  last  long.  She 
stood  for  a  moment  irresolute,  with  her 
filmy,  muslin  draperies  lifted  in  one  deli- 
cately-gloved hand,  then  glanced  up  with 
her  peculiarly  charming  smile. 

"If  you  think  it  will  be  best  to  sit 
down  and  wait,  let  us  sit  down  by  all 
means.  I  shall  like  a  little  leisure  to  take 
in  all  this  wonderful  beauty.  See  how 
the  sunset  light  strikes  those  masses  of 
splendid  foliage,  and  with  what  a  charm- 
ing effect  the  deer  pass  now  and  then 
across  the  openings  !  " 

"  The  scene  is  lovely,  look  where  one 
will.  I  knew  you  would  enjoy  it,  be- 
cause I  have  often  observed  that  your  ap- 
preciation of  natural  beauty  is  greater 
than  that  of  most  people  ;  in  fact,'you  re- 
gard such  things  almost  as  an  artist  does.1' 

A  subtile  change — almost  a  shadow — 
fell  over  her  face.  They  had  seated  them- 
selves under  a  massive  oak,  and,  as  she 
looked  at  the  stretches  of  forest-distance, 
a  wistful,  absent  expression  came  into  her 
eyes.  It  was  not  often  that  any  memory 
of  her  old  life  troubled  her,  but  now  her 
fancy  went  swiftly  back  to  the  far-distant 
and  far  -  different  woodland  glades  in 
which  she  first  learned  to  regard  Nature 
"as  an  artist  does." 

"That  is  not  singular,"  she  said,  in 
.answer  to  his  last  remark.  "  I  was  once 


associated  very  closely  with  one  who  had 
the  soul  and  the  eye  of  an  artist ;  and  I 
have  not  quite  forgotten  all  that  he  taught 
me." 

Absurdly  enough — as  he  was  perfectly 
conscious — Colonel  Danesf ord  felt  a  thrill 
of  jealousy.  Of  Mrs.  Traffprd's  past  life 
he  knew  little ;  of  her  former  masculine 
friends,  lovers,  and  associates,  still  less; 
and  to  be  vaguely  jealous  of  every  man 
she  chanced  to  mention  would  have  been 
uncomfortable,  to  say  the  least ;  but,  in 
the  present  instance,  there  was  more  in 
her  tone  than  in  her  words,  and  more  in 
her  face  than  in  either,  to  make  him  sus- 
pect there  was  ground  for  jealousy. 

"  Artists  are  generally  pleasant  asso- 
ciates," he  said,  trying  to  speak  as  indif- 
ferently as  possible,  "  and  you  have  been 
living  for  years  in  an  artist's  paradise,  so 
that  you  have  doubtless  seen  a  great  deal 
j  of  the  fraternity." 

"On  the  contrary,  very  little,"  she 
answered.  "  J  have  never  cultivated  the 
society  of  artists  of  any  kind,  and  the 
friend  of  whom  I  speak  I  knew  long  ago 
— when  we  were  both  little  more  than 
children." 

"But  you  have  seen  him  since?  " 

"Never.  For  ten  years  I  have  not 
heard  his  name,  and  I  do  not  know 
whether  he  is  alive  or  dead,  famous  or 
obscure.  Sometimes  I  think  I  should 
like  to  know — for  he  was  a  good  friend 
to  me,  poor  Hugh !  But  then,  again,  I 
think  that  it  does  not  matter  at  all,  and 
that  it  is  better  to  let  him  be  dead  to  me 
— together  with  all  the  rest." 

She  spoke  on  an  impulse,  half  absent- 
ly, half  carelessly ;  and  Danesford,  who 
had  never  before  heard  her  allude  to  her 
past,  gave  the  words  rather  more  than 
their  due  significance^  As  she  said, 
"Poor  Hugh!  "  there  was  certainly  an 
accent  of  tenderness  in  her  voice  which 
was  rather  depressing  to  her  companion's 
feelings. 

"  Hugh — whoever  he  may  be — would 
be  complimented  if  he  knew  how  kindly 
lie  was  remembered,"  he  said! 


144 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


She  uttered  a  low  and  rather  sad  laugh. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  she  replied; 
"  but  it  does  not  matter.  Let  us  talk  of 
something  else ;  old  memories  are  among 
the  most  stupid  and  most  disagreeable 
things  in  the  world." 

"  Let  us  talk  of  ourselves,  then,"  said 
he,  in  a  low,  eager  tone.  "At  least, 
allow  me  to  talk  of  myself  for  once,  and 
tell  you — what  you  cannot  need  to  be 
told,  however — that  I  love  you  devotedly. 
I  had  no  idea  of  saying  this  when  I 
brought  you  here,"  he  added,  quickly,  as 
she  started  and  looked  at  him  reproach- 
fully. "  But,  to  be  alone  with  you,  and 
not  speak,  is  impossible.  I  will  not  press 
you  for  an  answer  now,  but  I  cannot  let 
you  remain  in  ignorance  of  my  love.  I 
wish  I  were  able  to  tell  you  how  over- 
mastering a  passion  this  love  is ! — how  it 
has  filled  and  colored  my  whole  life,  and 
made  everything  else  naught  to  me  since 
I  first  saw  your  face — " 

"  Ah,  pray  hush !  "  said  she,  in  a  tone 
of  pain.  "I  am  not  worth  such  love. 
If  you  could  know  me  as  I  am,  Colonel 
Danesford,  you  would  keep  that  honest 
heart  of  yours  for  a  better  woman.  / 
am  cold  and  fickle,  vain  and  heartless.  I 
deserve  all  the  hard  things  that  people 
say  of  my  coquetry ;  and  yet — I  would 
have  spared  you,  if  I  could." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  be  spared,"  said 
he,  quietly,  but  his  bronzed  complexion 
turned  paler  at  her  last  words.  "  I  mean 
exactly  what  I  say,  when  I  tell  you  that 
I  would  rather  know  you  and  suffer  than 
never  have  known  you.  I  have  loved 
you — I  do  love  you,  as  in  all  my  life  I 
never  loved  any  other  woman ;  and,  if  you 
are  heart-free,  I  shall  never  give  up  the 
hope  of  winning  you  at  last." 

She  did  not  answer  immediately,  and 
for  a  few  moments  silence  followed  his 
last  words.  With  her  hands  lightly 
clasped  in  her  lap,  she  sat  quite  motion- 
less, gazing  with  unobservant  eyes  at  the 
alternation  of  light  and  shadow  in  the 
beautiful  scene  before  her.  She  Avas  de- 
bating in  her  mind  how  she  should  an- 


swer this  man  who  offered  her  so  much, 
and  who  showed  more  depth  of  feeling 
and  passion  than  she  had  credited  him 
with. 

"  After  all,  why  should  I  not  marry 
him  ?  "  she  was  saying  to  herself.  u  He 
is  possessed  of  all  that  I  have  any  right 
to  ask,  and  he  is  more  devoted  to  me 
than  any  one  else  will  probably  ever 
be." 

"While  these  thoughts  were  in  her 
mind — Chough  very  vaguely,  and  by  no 
means  assuming  the  cast  of  a  definite  or 
even  possible  resolve — and  while  Danes- 
ford  was  watching  her  abstracted  face 
with  passionate  eagerness  on  his  own,  a 
rustling  step  among  the  bracken  near  at 
hand  made  them  both  look  up. 

A  man's  figure  appeared,  thrown  into 
relief  by  a  flood  of  streaming,  golden 
light  behind,  as  he  emerged  from  one  of 
the  glades  and  advanced  toward  the  place 
where  they  were  sitting.  Since  the  ra- 
diance was  behind,  his  face  was  in  shadow, 
but  every  line  of  the  figure  stood  clearly 
forth,  and  also  a  large  square  object — ap- 
parently a  sketching  portfolio — which  he 
carried  under  his  arm. 

Mrs.  Trafford  was  glad  of  any  inter- 
ruption, or  pretext  of  an  interruption,  to 
end  the  conversation  which  had  taken  a 
turn  so  little  to  her  taste. 

"I  thought  that  might  have  been 
Mariette  and  Captain  Gresham,"  she  said. 
"  Since  our  waiting  for  them  has  not 
proved  a  success,  suppose  we  go  in  search 
of  them?" 

She  rose  as  she  spoke ;  and  the  artist, 
who  had  not  observed  her  before,  started 
as  the  graceful  figure  suddenly  stood  in 
his  path — the  luminous  glow  falling  over 
it,  over  the  beautiful  face  and  waving 
masses  of  chestnut  hair  tinged  with  gold. 

He  paused  for  a  second,  motionless, 
staring  as  if  he  had  seen  a  spirit ;  then, 
remembering  himself  suddenly,  he  lifted 
his  hat,  and,  turning  abruptly,  walked 
away  in  another  direction. 

"  That  fellow  was  certainly  amazed," 
said  Colonel  Danesford,  with  a  laugh. 


"SHOULD  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE  BE  FORGOT?" 


145 


"  He  was  not  expecting  such  an  appari- 
tion, and  it  dazzled  him." 

"Do  you  know  him?  Have  you  any 
idea  who  he  is?"  asked  Mrs.  Trafford, 
looking  intently  after  the  retreating  fig- 
ure. 

"Not  the  least!"  Danesford  an- 
swered. "  He  is  some  artist  on  a  sketch- 
ing expedition,  probably.  Why  do  you 
ask  ?  "  he  added.  "  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"No,"  she  answered,  slowly.  "That 
is — it  was  fancy,  I  suppose ;  but  I  thought 
he  resembled  the  friend  of  whom  I  was 
talking  when  we  first  sat  down." 

"  The  association  of  ideas  very  likely 
made  you  imagine  a  resemblance.  Have 
you  any  reason  to  think  that  your  friend 
is  in  England? " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  him  ;  I  have 
no  reason  to  think  anything  of  him,"  she 
answered,  almost  impatiently.  "  The  re- 
semblance merely  startled  me;  that  is 
all." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  for  Danes- 
ford  felt  instinctively  that  it  would  not 
be  well  to  resume  the  subject  of  his 
declaration,  until  presently  Mrs.  Trafford 
paused,  with  a  laugh.  "Yonder  they 
are !  "  she  said.  "  What  a  pretty  pict- 
ure!— is  it  not?" 

"  A  picture  that  might  be  painted, 
hung  on  the  Acedemy-walls,  and  called 
'  Flirtation,' "  said  Danesford. 

Mariette  and  Captain  Gresham,  of 
whom  they  spoke,  appeared  at  the  end  of 
a  long  green  avenue,  strolling  slowly, 
with  an  air  of  preoccupation,  toward 
them.  The  girl's  face  was  bent  slightly 
downward,  the  young  man's  was  turned 
toward  her ;  bars  of  sunlight  and  shadow 
checkered  the  way ;  the  whole  framework 
of  pastoral  beauty  seemed  to  suit  their 
youth  and  grace. 


10 


CHAPTER  V. 

"SHOULD  AULD   ACQUAINTANCE  BE  FOB- 
GOT?" 

THE  rooms  of  the  Royal  Academy 
were  well  filled  when  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Paget,  attended '  by  Eeade  and  March- 
mont,  entered  them,  on  the  day  after 
their  visit  to  Windsor. 

The  young  painter's  love  of  his  art, 
and  knowledge  of  it,  came  out  strongly 
when  he  found  himself  with  a  companion 
so  intelligent  and  enthusiastic  as  Nelly 
Paget. 

She  frankly  confessed  that  her  oppor- 
tunities for  art-culture  had  not  been 
great;  yet  her  taste  was  exceedingly 
good,  and  her  apprehension  very  quick. 

"  Tell  me  why  it  is  a  good  picture," 
she  would  say  to  him ;  and  she  listened 
with  the  most  genuine  interest  while  he 
discoursed  of  distances  and  perspectives, 
shades,  tints,  and  tones. 

This  was  uninteresting,  however,  to 
Mrs.  Paget  and  Marchmont,  so  they  did 
not  always  wait  to  get  the  benefit  of  Mr. 
Reade's  criticisms  and  disquisitions;  hence 
a  slight  separation  of  the  party  occurred. 
When  they  finally  reached  Hugh  Dins- 
more's  pictures,  Nelly  and  her  companion 
were  still  lingering  over  one  of  Alma- 
Tadema's  paintings. 

"This  is  the  picture  Nelly  was  so 
much  struck  with  the  other  day,"  said 
Mrs.  Paget,  pausing  before  the  one  en- 
titled "Wild-Flowers."  "I  should  not 
have  noticed — as  she  did  at  once — that 
the  foliage  is  peculiar  to  our  woods ;  but 
I  see  it  very  clearly  now.  It  must  have 
been  painted  by  some —  Excuse  me, 
Mr.  Marchmont!  Is  anything  the  mat- 
ter?" 

Marchmont  did  not  answer;  in  fact, 
he  did  not  hear  her.  He  was  gazing  at 
the  painting  like  one  who  is  both  startled 
and  fascinated.  Nor  was  this  singular. 

What  he  saw  before  him  was  a  picture 
of  the  glen  in  which  he  first  met  Amy 
Reynolds  on  an  April  afternoon  ten  years 


146 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


before.  Every  detail  of  the  scene  was 
familiar  to  him ;  but  most  familiar  of  all 
was  the  lovely,  flower-crowned  girl  bend- 
ing to  look  at  herself  in  the  crystal  water. 

This  was  the  exact  portrait  of  Amy — 
a  portrait  which  made  vivid  again  all  his 
fading  recollection  of  her  face,  and  sent 
a  sharp  thrill  like  a  dart  through  and 
through  him. 

There  was  another  figure — that  of  a 
boy — but  only  the  back  of  his  head  and 
form  were  sketched,  and  he  was  thrown 
in  such  deep  shadow  that  a  casual  glance 
hardly  discovered  him. 

As  soon  as  Marchmont  recovered  from 
his  first  shock  of  amazement,  he  looked 
at  his  catalogue,  and  found  exactly  what 
he  expected — the  name  of  Hugh  Dins- 
more. 

" Of  course  it  could  be  no  one  else!  " 
he  muttered  to  himself;  and  then  he 
added  aloud  to  Mrs.  Paget :  "  Pardon  me, 
but  I  am  surprised  to  find  myself  unex- 
pectedly face  to  face  with  an  old  acquaint- 
ance. Does  that  girl  remind  you  of  any 
one  whom  you  have  lately  seen  ?  " 

Mrs.  Paget  began  to  think  that  her 
companion  was  distraught.  She  looked 
at  the  picture,  then  at  him,  then  at  the 
picture  again. 

"I — really — I  don't  think  it  reminds 
me  of  any  one,"  she  said,  at  length.  "  It 
is  a  very  pretty  face — very  pretty!  Do 
you  mean  that  you  know  the  original  ?  " 

"  I  did  know  her  very  well,  long  ago. 
It  is  a  portrait  of  the  girl  who,  I  have 
reason  to  believe,  is  now  Mrs.  Trafford." 

Mrs.  Paget  stared.  Before  she  could 
speak,  a  voice  behind  her  said,  quickly : 

"  Oh,  how  singular  this  is !  Why,  it 
is  Amy — Amy,  as  she  looked  when  I  was 
a  child !  " 

Marchmont  turned,  and  faced  a  gold- 
en-haired girl,  who  was  gazing  at  the 
picture  with  an  amazement  equal  to  his 
own. 

"  I  cannot  understand  it !  "  she  said, 
and  then  she,  too,  looked  at  her  catalogue 
and  uttered  a  cry. 

"  It  was  painted  by  Hugh — our  own 


Hugh !  "  she  said.  "  How  strange — how 
very  strange  this  is ! — Captain  Gresham, 
pray  go  and  bring  Mrs.  Trafford  here  at 
once ! " 

"  And  leave  you  alone  ? "  asked  Cap- 
tain Gresham,  hesitating. 

"  Ob,  yes — yes !  that  does  not  matter. 
Pray  go  at  once !  " 

Her  tone  left  the  young  man  no  room 
for  demur,  so  he  immediately  went  in 
search  of  Mrs.  Trafford.  That  lady,  at- 
tended by  Mr.  Grantham,  who  professed 
to  be  a  great  connoisseur  of  pictures,  was 
standing  with  a  doubtful  expression  be- 
fore one  of  the  latest  eccentricities  of  the 
extreme  pre-Eaphaelite  school  when  he 
approached. 

"Miss  Reynolds  has  sent  me  to  beg 
that  you  will  come  to  her  at  once,  Mrs. 
Trafford,"  he  said.  "  She  has  found  a 
picture  which  has  impressed  her  very 
much." 

"With  admiration,  or  the  reverse?" 
asked  Mrs.  Trafford,  smiling. 

"  Well,  not  exactly  with  either," 
replied  Captain  Gresham,  twisting  his 
mustache.  "  She  seems  to  consider  that 
the  face  on  it  is  like  yours,  and  she  recog- 
nized the  name  of  the  artist.  Stay !  I 
will  find  it  for  you." 

He  took  Mrs.  Trafford's  catalogue  and 
hastily  turned  over  the  leaves  until  he 
found  "Wild  Flowers,"  when  he  gave 
it  back,  pointing  to  Hugh  Dinsmore's 
name. 

As  her  eye  fell  on  it,  the  brilliant  col- 
or of  her  cheek  varied  a  little,  and  for  a 
moment  she  was  silent.  Then  she  said, 
quietly : 

"  Yes,  that  is  -the  name  of  one  of  our 
oldest  friends.    I  am  surprised — but  very ' 
glad  to  see  it  here." 

"May  I  inquire  who  it  is?  "  said  Mr. 
Grantham.  "  Ah !  Dinsmore.  He  is  an 
American  artist,  who  is  coming  some- 
what into  note.  I  have  heard  of  him 
once  or  twice  lately.  Do  I  understand 
that  he  is  your  friend,  Mrs.  Trafford  ? " 

"He  was  formerly  my  friend,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Trafford;  "but  I  have  not 


"SHOULD  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE  BE  FORGOT?" 


147 


seen  him  for  years,  and  he  has  probably 
forgotten  me  altogether.  Let  us  go  and 
look  at  his  picture." 

When  she  came  in  front  of  it,  how- 
ever, her  composure,  perfect  as  it  was, 
gave  way.  As  her  glance  fell  on  the 
well-remembered  glen,  and  on  her  own 
girlish  face,  the  bright  blood  ebbed  from 
her  cheeks,  and  a  low  cry  broke  from  her 
lips. 

u  Ah, how  like  it  is! — how  like!  "  she 
said.  "  Our  glen — our  familiar  glen ! 
And  my  face,  as  if  I  saw  it  in  a  mirror  as 
it  Avas  ten  years  ago !  " 

"It  is  the  face  of  a  wood-nymph," 
said  Mr.  Grantham ;  "but  the  face  which 
your  mirror  reflects  at  the  present  time 
has  no  need  to  envy  or  regret  it." 

She  did  not  answer  or  heed  him.  She 
stood  with  her  gaze  fastened  on  the  pict- 
ure, as  if  magnetized,  while  her  mind 
went  back  to  the  old  existence,  until  her 
present  surroundings  seemed  strange  and 
unreal. 

That  was  the  real  life — the  babbling 
brook,  the  drooping  trees,  the  foolisli, 
willful  girl  in  her  Bohemian  freedom.  At 
least,  it  seemed  so  for  a  moment.  Then 
she  roused  with  a  start,  heard  the  voices 
round  her,  and  remembered  that  Mrs. 
Trafford  lived,  and  Amy  Eeynolds  was 
dead  forever. 

It  was  this  moment  which  Marchmont 
chose  to  step  forward.  He  had  drawn 
back  a  little  as  she  approached,  but  he 
felt  that,  if  he  meant  to  claim  her  ac- 
quaintance at  all,  this  was  his  best  oppor- 
tunity to  do  so.  He  therefore  advanced, 
and  spoke  in  a  tone  so  low  that  his  words 
were  only  audible -to  herself: 

"Will  Mrs.  Trafford  permit  an  old 
friend  to  recall  himself  to  her  recollec- 
tion ?  We  met  for  the  first  time  in  that 
glen  " — he  glanced  at  the  picture — "  and 
there  is  a  singular  appropriateness  in  the 
fact  that  it  should  be  the  means  of  our 
second  meeting." 

Instead  of  discomposing  her,  the  sound 
of  his  voice  seemed  to  steady  her  nerves 
and  make  them  like  steel.  She  turned, 


and  it  was  Mrs.  Trafford — the  woman 
who  had  passed  completely  beyond  the 
sphere  of  his  influence — who  now  looked 
at  him  with  steady  eyes. 

"  I  remember  you,  Mr.  Marchmont," 
she  said,  quietly,  but  made  no  motion 
to  extend  her  hand  in  token  of  recogni- 
tion. 

Her  failure  to  perform  this  act  of  sim- 
ple courtesy,  and  the  calm  coldness  of  her 
words,  placed  Marchmont  at  an  almost 
greater  disadvantage  than  if  she  had  de- 
clined to  know  him.  Her  manner  seemed 
to  erect  a  barrier  between  them  which  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  pass.  Yet,  af- 
ter a  moment's  pause,  he  made  another 
effort  to  do  so  : 

"It  is  a  very  great  and  unexpected 
happiness  to  me  to  meet  you  again!  "  he 
said.  "  You  are  so  changed — so  marvel- 
ously  changed  ! — that  but  for  this  picture 
I  could  hardly  have  brought  myself  to  be- 
lieve in  your  identity  with  the  girl  I  knew 
long  ago  in  Edgerton." 

She  smiled  slightly. 

"  I  have  no  point  of  identity  with  the 
girl  whom  you  knew  long  ago  in  Edger- 
ton," she  said.  "I  remember  that  she 
existed ;  that  is  all." 

"  And  do  you  disown  all  the  associa- 
tions of  that  old  life  ?  "  he  asked,  quickly. 

"They  are  nothing  to  me,"  she  an- 
swered. "  Ten  years  have  passed  since  I 
saw  a  face  or  heard  a  voice  connected 
with  them.  Yours  is  the  first !  "  she  add- 
ed, looking  at  him  with  a  glance  which 
seemed  to  say  "  You  may  judge,  there- 
fore, how  utterly  you  are  without  power 
to  move  me." 

He  plainly  recognized  this,  and  it  had 
on  him  something  of  the  effect  of  a  chal- 
lenge. "I  will  move  her  yet!"  he 
thought ;  then  he  said : 

"  If  you  disclaim  all  identity  with  that 
charming  songstress  of  the  woods" — he 
glanced  again  at  the  picture — "you  will 
at  least  for  her  sake  allow  me  the  honor 
of  your  acquaintance,  I  hope  ?  " 

She  bent  her  head,  with  the  same 
graceful  but  unapproachable  coldness. 


148 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


"  I  cannot  refuse  such  a  request.  The 
honor  of  my  acquaintance  is  yours,  Mr. 
Marchmont,  if  you  desire  it.  Now  be 
good  enough  to  tell  me  if  you  know  any- 
thing of  the  artist  who  painted  this  pict- 
ure— my  old  friend  Hugh  Dinsmore  ?  " 

"I  know  no  more  of  him  than  that  I 
saw  his  name  on  the  catalogue  when  I 
looked  at  it  to  learn  who  had — hy  magic, 
as  it  seemed — brought  back  that  never- 
forgotten  scene  to  me.  I  am  in  London 
as  a  mere  bird  of  passage,  and  know 
few  people." 

"  I  must  find  out  something  concern- 
ing him,"  she  said;  and  probably  March- 
mont had  never  felt  a  keener  thrill  of 
mortification  than  he  experienced  while 
contrasting  her  tone  when  speaking  of 
Dinsmore  with  her  tone  in  speaking  to 
himself. 

After  a  few  more  words — measuredly 
cold  on  her  part,  very  deferential  on  his 
— she  bowed  in  token  of  adieu,  and 
moved  away  to  where  Mariette  was 
standing  with  the  two  gentlemen  in  at- 
tendance. 

"  So  your  admirer  of  the  opera  proves 
to  be  really  an  old  acquaintance,  Mrs. 
Trafford  ?  "  said  Mr.  Grantham,  when  he 
found  himself  again  at  her  side. 

"  My  admirer  of  the  opera !  "  said  she, 
lifting  her  eyebrows  slightly.  "  Oh,  yes ; 
I  believe  Mr.  Marchmont  is  the  same 
person  whose  persistent  gaze  across  the 
opera-house  was  observed  by  Mariette 
the  other  night.  Probably  he  was  not 
sure  of  my  identity  with  the  girl  he  knew 
long  ago." 

"As  you  were  not  sure  of  his!  I 
think  you  said  then  that  you  did  not 
know  him." 

"I  do  not  remember  faces  readily," 
said  she,  a  little  haughtily,  for  she  did 
not  fancy  the  tone  of  his  remark. 

She  had  never  accorded  to  this  am- 
bitious aspirant  for  her  hand  a  sufficient 
degree  of  favor  to  entitle  him  to  presume 
in  any  way,  and  her  quick  ear  warned 
her  that  there  was  a  shade  of  suspicion 
in  his  tone. 


This  suspicion  was  of  the  kind  which 
a  new  lover  always  feels  when  brought 
in  contact  with  an  old  one.  Mr.  Gran- 
tham was  by  no  means  in  love  with  Mrs. 
Trafford  in  the  sentimental  sense  of  that 
term,  but  he  was  most  sincerely  anxious 
to  secure  the  valuable  aid  of  her  wealth, 
her  beauty,  her  cleverness,  and  worldly 
knowledge;  and  he  regarded  with  dis- 
trust the  appearance  of  a  probable  rival 
with  that  glamour  of  the  past  over  him 
which  is  said — often  erroneously — to  be 
so  powerful  in  its  effect  on  women's 
hearts. 

Nelly  Paget,  meanwhile,  was  over- 
whelmed with  curiosity  when  she  heard 
of  the  encounter  at  the  picture.  In  the 
excitement  of  this  new  interest  she  en- 
tirely forsook  Mr.  Reade,  and  turned  an 
inattentive  ear  to  his  art-criticisms. 

When  Marchmont  rejoined  them  after 
leaving  Mrs.  Trafford,  she  at  once  pounced 
upon  him,  and,  professing  for  the  first 
time  to  be  tired  of  standing,  carried  him 
off  to  one  of  the  seats  in  the  middle  of 
the  room. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  they  sat 
down,  "  tell  me  all  about  it.  Mary's  ac- 
count has  been  very  confused,  as  you  can 
imagine.  Is  that  girl  in  '  "Wild-Flowers ' 
really  painted  for  Mrs.  Trafford? — Who 
is  the  artist  ? — How  did  he  chance  to  do 
it? — And  did  she  recognize  you  at  once  ?  " 

"Which  question  shall  I  answer  first? " 
he  asked,  smiling.  "  Yes,  the  face  of  that 
girl  is  an  exact  portrait  of  Mrs.  Trafford 
as  I  saw  her  first — in  that  very  glen  which 
is  painted  there." 

"  In  that  very  glen !  "  cried  Nelly, 
with  her  eyes  like  saucers.  "  If  you  are 
not  playing  on  my  credulity — 

"  On  my  honor,  I  am  not." 

"Then  how  romantic  it  all  is!  But 
who  knew  of  it  ? — who  painted  it  ?  You 
have  not  told  me  that." 

He  opened  the  catalogue  in  his  hand 
and  pointed  to  Hugh's  name,  and  as  she 
read  it  she  uttered  a  little  cry  of  surprise. 

"Dinsmore!  "  she  said.  "Why,  that 
is  the  name  of  the  artist  of  whom  Mr. 


"SHOULD  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE  BE  FORGOT?" 


149 


Keade  was  talking  that  afternoon  in  the 
Park!  Don't  you  remember  he  said — 
No,  I  believe  you  were  not  there  to  hear 
him,  but  he  did  say  that,  only  a  little 
while  before  Mr.  Bowling  introduced 
him  to  us,  he  was  talking  to  this  Mr. 
Dinsmore  when  Mrs.  Trafford's  carriage 
drew  up,  and  he — Mr.  Dinsmore — was  so 
greatly  agitated  by  her  appearance  that 
Mr.  Reade  was  much  surprised." 

"So  the  fellow  is  in  London!"  said 
Marchmont,  in  a  tone  of  disgust.  "I  am 
heartily  sorry  for  that.  He  knew  Mrs. 
Traiford  when  they  both  were  very 
young,  and,  as  he  exhibited  some  talent 
for  art,  a  wealthy  philanthropist  sent  him 
over  here  to  become  a  painter.  He  was 
underbred  and  presuming  in  his  boyhood, 
and  is  not  likely  to  be  improved  now." 

"  But  how  is  it  that  he  has  carried 
Mrs.  Trafford's  face  in  his  memory  so 
long?  "Was  he  in  love  with  her  ? " 

"  Very  much  so,  if  I  remember  right- 
ly. Now  that  I  think  of  it,  I  believe  he 
was  in  that  glen  with  her  the  evening  I 
first  saw  her.  So  it  is  plain  how  he  was 
able  to  paint  the  scene/' 

"It  is  altogether  the  most  romantic 
affair  I  ever  heard  of! "  said  Miss  Paget. 
"  AVbat  an  enchantress  Mrs.  Trafford 
must  be !  I  am  dying  to  know  her !  Pray, 
Mr.  Marchmont,  when  you  go  to  see  her 
— you  are  going,  are  you  not? — ask  per- 
mission to  present  me  to  her.  I  don't 
care  '  tuppence '  as  the  people  here  say, 
whether  I  am  violating  social  etiquette 
or  not.  I  must  and  will  know  her !  " 

"To  hear  is  to  obey!"  said  March- 
mont, smiling.     "  However,   I  have  no 
immediate  intention  of  going  to  see  Mrs.  I 
Trafford." 

"But  you  must  have!"  cried  Nelly, 
impatiently ;  and  he  had  no  objection  to 
being  importuned  to  do  as  a  favor  to  her 
that  which  he  had  already  decided  to  do 
as  soon  as  possible  on  his  own  account. 

The  next  morning  his  card  was  brought 
to  Mrs.  Trafford,  who  glanced  at  it  care- 
lessly, and  bade  the  servant  say  she  would 
be  down  presently. 


"So  he  will  not  let  me  alone!"  she 
said  to  herself,  as  she  sealed  and  addressed 
a  note  she  had  written.  "  Well,  one  often 
sees  moths  persist  in  burning  themselves. 
If  he  persists,  the  penalty  will  fall  on  his 
own  head." 

Marchmont,  meanwhile,  was  standing 
in  the  drawing-room,  wondering  if  he 
was  not  dreaming.  This  Mjou  of  a  room, 
with  its  luxurious  appointments,  its  flow- 
er-filled balcony,  its  air  of  wealth  and 
culture,  carried  his  thoughts,  by  very 
force  of  contrast,  back  to  the  dingy,  shab- 
by parlor  in  Edgerton,  in  which  he  had 
once  spent  so  many  hours  with  Amy 
Reynolds. 

The  change  seemed  almost  incredible. 
The  girl  who,  ten  years  before,  was  so 
socially  insignificant  that  his  careless  at- 
tentions were  esteemed  compromising  to 
!  her,  and  whose  highest  ambition  had 
I  been  to  become  an  opera-singer,  was  to- 
day floating  on  the  topmost  wave  of  life 
— young,  beautiful,  wealthy,  fashionable 
— as  far  above  him  now  as  she  had  been 
beneath  him  long  ago.  The  difference 
was  so  great,  that  it  gave  him  a  sensation 
almost  akin  to  giddiness. 

"  It  is  a  prize  worth  an  effort ! "  he 
said  to  himself.  "  If  I  can  grasp  it — and 
why  not?  Old  sentiment  is  strong  with 
women." 

Many  men  lay  this  flattering  unction 
to  their  souls,  forgetting  altogether  that 
a  spell  once  broken  can  never  be  renewed, 
a  glamour  once  dispelled  can  never  be  re- 
stored, a  fancy  once  forgotten  can  never 
be  rekindled. 

Presently  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs. 
Trafford  entered,  wearing  an  exquisite 
morning-dress  of  white  muslin,  needle- 
work and  lace,  relieved  by  cerise  ribbons, 
her  full  yet  slender  figure  girdled  by  a 
sash  of  the  same  color. 

She  greeted  Marchmont  as  she  would 
have  greeted  any  ordinary  acquaintance, 
carelessly  extending  a  white,  slender  hand 
sparkling  with  jewels.  Her  unruffled  self- 
possession,  her  easy  calmness,  were  not 
calculated  to  give  him  any  assurance  of 


150 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


the  power  of  that  "old  sentiment"  of 
which  he  had  thought ;  but  some  people 
are  fertile  in  self -consolation,  and  he  de- 
cided that  these  things  were  significantly 
favorable  tokens. 

"You  have  changed  very  little,  Mr. 
Marchmont,"  she  said,  looking  at  him, 
with  her  full,  brilliant  glance,  as  he  drew 
a  chair  near  the  couch  on  which  she  had 
seated  herself.  "It  is  seldom  that  years 
pass  so  lightly  as  they  seem  to  have 
passed  over  you." 

"  And  it  is  still  more  seldom  that  they 
work  such  change  as  I  find  in  you  !  "  he 
answered.  "  Pardon  me  if  I  say  that, 
much  as  I  admired  my  little  friend  of  ten 
years  ago,  I  could  never  have  anticipated 
for  her  so  magnificent  a  womanhood !  " 

"  The  change  certainly  seems  to  savor 
of  enchantment,"  said  she,  as  her  glance 
swept  over  her  surroundings.  "  It  is  im- 
possible to  express  what  I  owe  to  the 
kind  and  generous  friend  who  was  the 
magician  to  bring  it  all  about." 

"You  allude,  of  course,  to  your  hus- 
band," said  Marchmont.  "  The  news  of 
your  marriage  astounded  and  —  may  I 
add  ? — pained  me ;  but  I  recognized  then, 
as  I  recognize  now,  that  you  acted  wisely. 
You  were. left  unprotected,  and  I  was, 
alas!  unable  to  assist  you;  therefore  a 
mariage  de  raison  was  your  best  resource." 

"  I  am  glad,  even  at  this  late  day,  to 
have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  you 
approve  of  my  course,"  said  she ;  and  the 
irony  of  her  tone  was  so  fine  and  delicate, 
that  Marchmont  more  than  half  doubted 
whether  it  was  irony  at  all. 

"  I  wish,"  said  he,  eagerly,  "  that  I 
might  obtain  your  approbation  of  my 
course.  I  wish  that  I  might  hope  that, 
by  the  light  of  worldly  experience,  you 
would  judge  it  more  leniently  than  you 
once  did ! " 

"I  was  young  and  foolish — shall  I  say 
sentimental? — then,"  said  she,  with  a 
smile  glittering  in  her  eyes.  "  I  lacked 
worldly  experience  utterly.  You  are 
quite  right ;  I  should  judge  very  differ- 
ently now.  I  flatter  myself  that  I  am 


able  to  appreciate  your  motives  altogeth- 
er at  their  just  value." 

"Ah,"  said  he,  quickly,  "it  has  been 
the  hope  of  my  life  to  hear  you  say  that 
— to  know  that  you  appreciated  the 
strength  of  the  chain  of  circumstances 
which  bound  me.  If  I  had  been  able  to 
follow  the  dictates  of  my  heart,  life  would 
have  been  very  different ;  for  I,  too,  have 
been  married  since  we  parted." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  she,  with  the  air  of 
well-bred  interest  which  people  feign  in 
things  which  do  not  interest  them  at  all. 
"Is  your  wife  with  you?  " 

"  She  has  been  dead  four  years,"  he 
answered.  "  I  am  entirely  alone  in  the 
world." 

"  That  is  sad ! — at  least  some,  men 
would  consider  it  so.  Others  like  best 
to  run  the  race  of  life  unweighted.  Un- 
less my  memory  errs,  you  were  ambitious 
when  I  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  you 
before,  and  that  is  a  passion  which  gains 
strength  with  years ;  therefore  you  are 
ambitious  still,  and  I  hope  you  have  been 
successful?" 

"I  have  no  reason  to  complain  of 
want  of  success,  though  I  have  necessarily 
encountered  some  disappointment.  I  am 
in  Europe  now  to  recruit  my  health, 
which  has  suffered  from  my  exertions  in 
public  life." 

"Then  you  will  probable  not  be  long 
in  London  ? " 

"  The  length  of  my  stay  is  altogether 
indefinite.  I  am  in  a  measure  attached 
to  a  party  whose  movements  have  regu- 
lated mine  for  some  time.  A  propos, 
there  is  one  member  of  it  who  is  exceed- 
ingly anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance, 
and  hopes  you  will  allow  her  to  do  so. 
She  is  a  very  enthusiastic  young  lady, 
who  has  been  raving  about  you  ever  since 
she  first  saw  you  at  the  opera,  a  few 
nights  ago." 

"  I  am  not  partial  to  Americans,"  said 
Mrs.  Trafford,  with  a  careless  shrug  of 
her  shoulders;  "but  I  have  no  objection 
to  knowing  one  or  two,  now  and  then. 
What  is  the  young  lady's  name? '' 


A  VOICE  FROM  THE  PAST. 


151 


"  She  is  Miss  Paget ;  and  I  think  you 
may  like  her — if  it  can  be  safely  predicted 
that  one  woman  will  like  another.  Her 
brother,  with  whom  she  is  traveling,  I 
have  known  a  long  time ;  he  is  lately 
married,  and  his  wife  is  a  very  pleasant 
person." 

"Altogether,  you  fancy  that  I  would 
not  regret  breaking  through  my  rule  in 
favor  of  the  Pagets? "  said  she,  with  a 
smile.  "I  suppose  they  are  staying  at 
the  Langham  Hotel,  where  Americans 
mostly  resort?  If  I  can  find  time,  I  shall 
not  mind  dropping  a  card  and  asking 
them  to  dine,  as  soon  as  I  can  set  a  day. 
I  may  count  on  you  for  the  occasion,  I 
suppose,  Mr.  Marchmont  ? " 

"With  the  greatest  pleasure!  But 
may  I  not  hope  to  see  you  again  before 
then?" 

"  I  hardly  think  so.  Engagements 
multiply  around  me,  and,  although  I  am 
very  well  seasoned  to  dissipation,  I  begin 
to  think  that  a  London  season  eclipses  all 
that  I  have  hitherto  known  in  that  line." 

Silence  fell  for  a  moment,  and  March- 
mont felt  that  he  ought  to  go,  yet  he  also 
felt  very  much  averse  to  doing  so. 

"  I  am  told  that  the  young  lady  whom 
I  have  twice  seen  with  you  is  your  sister," 
he  said.  "  She  must  be  my  little  friend 
of  old,  who  was  then  Mariette,  and  is 
now  transformed  into  Miss  Eeynolds  ?  " 

"Yes,  it  is  Mariette,"  Mrs.  Trafford 
answered.  "  She  is  a  very  charming 
companion  for  me,  and  I  hope.  I  may 
keep  her  for  some  time  to  come." 

"  I  should  not  fancy  that  it  would  be 
wise  to  count  on  such  a  thing,  unless 
'  some  time  to  come '  is  a  period  of  very 
limited  duration." 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  is  a  period  of 
?mlimited  duration,  I  hope!"  she  an- 
swered. 

"  Subject  only,  I  presume,  to  the  limit 
of  those  two  most  uncertain  arbiters  of 
human  life — fate  and  a  woman's  caprice  ? " 

"  That  is  understood,  of  course ! 
Nothing  is  absolutely  fixed,  save  death 
and  taxation,  I  believe;  and  I  am  far 


from  claiming  for  my  plans  and  fancies 
exemption  from  the  law  of  possible 
change." 

"  It  is  seldom  a  woman  is  so  free,  and, 
I  may  add,  so  self-sustaining,  as  to  have 
only  her  own  plans  and  fancies  for 
guides,"  said  he. 

She  smiled  serenely. 

"  I  find  the  freedom  very  agreeable, 
and  my  self-sustaining  power  is  fortu- 
nately fully  equal  to  the  demand  imposed 
upon  it.  Since  you  are  in  London  as 
a  tourist,  I  suppose  you  have  seen  all  the 
regulation  -  sights  ? "  she  added,  with  a 
change  of  subject  which  made  him  feel  as 
if  he  were  thrust  away  at  arm's-length. 
"Have  you  seen  Patti? — and  what  do  you 
think  of  this  new  tenor,  over  whom  all 
the  world  is  raving  ?  " 

Marchmont  responded  suitably,  and, 
after  a  few  more  commonplaces  on  both 
sides,  Lady  Gresham  was  announced,  and 
he  took  his  departure,  meditating,  as  he 
went,  on  the  wide  gulf  which  yawned 
between  Amy  Eeynolds  and  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  VOICE  FEOM  THE   PAST. 

"BY  Jove!  Dinsmore,  your  picture 
has  made  a  pretty  commotion  ?  Have  you 
heard  of  it?" 

It  was  Reade  who  asked  the  question, 
as  he  entered  his  friend's  studio  a  day  or 
two  after  the  scene  in  the  Royal  Acade- 
my and  found  the  latter  hard  at  work. 

Dinsmore  did  not  look  up  from  the 
canvas  over  which  his  brush  was  moving 
back  and  forth,  nor  did  his  somewhat 
impassive  face  betray  any  sign  of  sur- 
prise. 

"  I  suppose  I  know  to  what  you  are 
alluding,"  he  replied.  "Mrs.  TrafFord  has 
recognized  the  face  on  the  picture  as  a 
likeness  of  herself  in  her  girlhood.  But, 
pray,  how  did  you  come  to  know  any- 
thing of  the  matter  ?  " 


152 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


"  A  fine  question  to  ask,  when  I  knew 
all  about  it  before  you  did !  I  was  at  the 
Academy  that  day  with  the  American 
party  I  mentioned  to  you.  By-the-by, 
that  Miss  Paget  is  a  delightfully  jolly 
girl !  " 

"  She  would  be  gratified,  no  doubt,  if 
she  knew  the  form  your  commendation 
takes !  And  so  you  were  at  the  Academy 
that  day  ?  But  I  don't  see  how  it  follows 
that  you  were  aware  of  Mrs.  Trafford's 
recognition  of  the  picture." 

"It  follows  in  this  way:  that  Mrs. 
Trafford  was  not  the  first  person  who 
recognized  it.  Do  you  know — have  you 
ever  known  —  a  man  named  March- 
mont?" 

Dinsmore  now  turned,  astonishment 
evident  on  his  face,  while  his  brows  drew 
darkly  together. 

"  I  once  knew  a  man  of  the  name,"  he 
said.  "What  of  him?" 

"  Only  that  he  is  with  the  Paget  party 
— as  a  suitor  of  Miss  Paget,  I  suspect — 
and  it  was  he  who  first  recognized  the 
girl  in  '"Wild-Flowers'  to  be  drawn  for 
Mrs.  Trafford." 

Dinsmore  muttered  something  which 
might  or  might  not  have  been  a  benedic- 
tion, and  after  a  moment's  piuse  the  other 
went  on : 

"  Miss  Paget  and  myself  were  unluck- 
ily loitering  behind  when  the  recognition 
took  place.  From  Mrs.  Paget's  account, 
it  must  have  been  rather  dramatic.  First, 
Mr.  Marchmont  recognized  the  likeness. 
Then,  Miss  Reynolds — Mrs.  Trafford's  sis- 
ter, you  know — who  chanced  to  come  up 
at  the  same  time,  was  struck  by  it. 
Lastly,  Mrs.  Trafford  herself  was  sum- 
moned to  the  spot  by  a  special  messen- 
ger sent  by  her  sister,  and  at  once  iden- 
tified her  own  fa'ce.  On  the  strength  of 
this,  her  acquaintance  was  at  once  claimed 
by  Marchmont,  who,  it  seems,  had  before 
been  doubtful  whether  he  had  known  her 
or  not." 

A  deep  flush  mounted  to  Dinsmore's 
face. 

"  The  insolent  puppy ! "  he  said,  be- 


tween his  closely-set  teeth.  "And  did 
she  recognize  him  ?  " 

"Yes,  she  recognized  him.  It  seems 
he  had  been  talking  a  good  deal  of  her 
having  been  his  first  love,  or  something 
of  the  kind,  and  Miss  Paget's  interest  was 
very  much  roused.  As  soon  as  she  heard 
of  the  meeting  at  the  picture  she  was  full 
of  excitement,  cross-questioned  me  as  to 
how  you  came  to  paint  Mrs.  Trafford's 
portrait,  and  finally  carried  off  March- 
mont as  soon  as  she  could  to  cross-ques- 
tion him  about  the  whole  affair." 

"She  must  be  very  much  given  to  in- 
terfering with  matters  which  don't  con- 
cern her !  A  woman  of  that  kind  is  my 
detestation ! " 

"I  don't  think  Miss  Paget  would  be 
your  detestation  if  you  knew  her.  In 
fact,  I'm  sure  you'd  like  her,  she  is  so 
pleasant  and  unaffected,  and  her  curios- 
ity is  natural  considering  her  age  and  her 
vivacity.  Suppose  you  let  me  present 
you  ?  Being  a  countryman,  she  would  be 
charmed  to  know  you." 

"  Charmed  to  have  an  opportunity  to 
cross-question  me,  I  have  no  doubt !  So 
you  will  allow  me  to  decline,  with  thanks. 
Besides,  what  you  have  said  of  March- 
mont is  enough.  I  would  not  make  the 
acquaintance  of  a  houri,  if  to  know  her 
would  involve  meeting  him." 

Eeade  looked  at  the  speaker  for  a  mo- 
ment with  a  rather  keen  scrutiny.  Then 
he  said:  "It  is  odd  that,  agreeable  and 
well-bred  as  Marchmont  is,  I  should  from 
the  first  have  felt  a  sort  of  distrust  of  him. 
I  liked  the  rest  of  them  so  much — they 
are  people  that  you  feel  to  be  honest  and 
genial  to  the  core — that  this  instinct  was 
the  more  marked  with  regard  to  him. 
He  is  very  much  of  a  courtier,  smooth 
and  supple,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing— is 
he  not  ? " 

"  He  is  a  dishonorable  scoundrel ! " 
said  Dinsmore,  emphatically.  "That  I 
know ;  and  if  this  Miss  Paget,  of  whom 
you  talk,  is  going  to  marry"him,  I  am  sin- 
cerely sorry  for  her !  " 

"  She  certainly  is  a  very  nice  little 


A  VOICE  FROM   THE   PAST. 


153 


thing  to  be  thrown  away  on  a  dishonor- 
able scoundrel !  "  said  Keade,  meditatively. 
"  If  there  is  no  other  way  of  saving  her 
from  such  a  fate,  I  should  not  niind  mar- 
rying her  myself ! " 

"  It  is  not  a  bad  idea ;  only  you  would 
have  no  chance  at  all.  An  honest  fellow 
never  succeeds  in  comparison  with  a  man 
like  Marchmont." 

The  bitterness  of  the  tone  in  which 
those  words  were  uttered  did  not  escape 
Reade's  ear,  and  he  drew  his  conclusions 
therefrom  with  tolerable  accuracy. 

"At  least  it  would  do  no  harm  to 
try!  "  he  said,  lightly.  "She  is  remark- 
ably attractive — not  a  beauty,  but  win- 
some, sensible,  and  good-tempered." 

"Then  by  all  means  marry  her — if 
you  can !  A  woman  of  that  description 
is  worth  a  dozen  beauties." 

"  That  is  very  true ;  but,  when  it  comes 
to  the  serious  question  of  matrimony, 
there  are  other  matters  to  be  considered 
besides  a  piquant  face  or  the  rivalry  of 
the  distinguished  Mr.  Marchmont — for  I 
understand  that  he  is  distinguished  in 
America." 

"  He  is  a  third-rate  politician,  with 
some  showy  qualities,  but  no  real  ability 
or  sagacity — if  you  consider  that  a  repu- 
tation of  that  kind  constitutes  distinc- 
tion." 

"  It  answers  very  well  to  travel  upon. 
But  the  matters  to  be  considered,  of  which 
I  spoke,  are  the  very  mundane  things 
called  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.  If  a 
man  can  barely  live  upon  his  income,  he 
must  be  a  lunatic  if  he  thinks  of  doubling 
his  responsibilities  upon  it  —  must  he 
not?" 

"I  am  not  sure.  To  double  your  re- 
sponsibilities might  make  you  paint  a  few 
pictures — which  it  is  clear  you  will  not 
do  without  a  stimulus  of  some  kind.  I 
fancy,  however,  that  in  this  instance  you 
would  be  more  likely  to  double  your 
income  than  your  responsibilities.  If 
Marchmont  is  in  this  young  lady's  train, 
it  follows  of  necessity  that  she  must  be 
an  heiress." 


"Indeed!  That  would  put  another 
complexion  upon  the  affair.  I  have  al- 
ways sternly  abjured  heiresses  who  are 
not  nice  girls ;  but  a  nice  girl  who  is  an 
heiress  is  a  phenomenon  before  which  I 
should  bow  at  once." 

"I  think  you  may  bow  here  without 
loss  of  time,  then.  Marchmont  was  a 
fortune-hunter  ten  years  ago,  and  men 
are  not  likely  to  become  more  disinter- 
ested as  they  grow  older." 

"  Very  well,  then.  I  shall  cry, '  Eeade, 
to  the  rescue ! '  and  enter  the  lists  against 
your  distinguished  compatriot  without 
loss  of  time.  Probably  he  will  transfer 
his  attentions  to  the  fascinating  Mrs. 
Trafford,  since  the  spell  of  old  association 
is  in  her  favor.  Did  I  understand  you  to 
say  that  there  was  once  a  love-affair  be- 
tween them  ? " 

"You  understood  me  to  say  nothing 
whatever  about  Mrs.  Trafford,"  responded 
Dinsmore,  almost  sternly. 

Reade's  manner  changed  in  a  moment 
from  jesting  to  earnest. 

"  I  beg  pardon !  "  he  said.  "  I  had  no 
intention  whatever  of  trying  to  force  your 
confidence.  It  was  from  Miss  Paget,  of 
course,  that  I  heard  the  report  to  which 
I  alluded." 

There  followed  a  short  silence;  then 
Dinsmore  threw  down  his  brush,  and 
turned,  with  something  of  impatience  in 
his  manner : 

"If  I  have  not  mentioned  anything 
about  my  past  acquaintance  with  Mrs. 
Trafford,"  he  said,  "  it  is  simply  because 
the  subject  is  painful  to  me,  and  not  be- 
cause there  is  any  reason  for  mystery  at- 
tached to  it.  When  we  were  both  very 
young,  I  knew  her ;  but  our  paths  in  life 
parted  ten  years  ago,  and  I  have  not  seen 
her  face  since  then  until  the  afternoon  of 
which  you  know,  in  the  Park.  It  was 
by  the  merest  accident  that  I  came  to 
paint  that  picture  this  spring.  I  chanced, 
one  day,  to  be  looking  over  an  old  sketch- 
book, and  there  I  found  the  outlines  of 
the  scene  sketched  from  life.  Somehow 
the  fancy  seized  me  to  elaborate  it  into  a 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


painting,  and  I  did  so,  never  dreaming 
that  it  would  meet  her  eye,  or  the  eye  of 
any  one  else  who  could  identify  it.  If  I 
had  expected  such  a  thing,  the  picture 
should  never  have  left  my  studio.  But 
how  could  I  imagine  that,  after  ten  years, 
the  people  best  able  to  identify  it  would 
meet  here  in  London  ?  " 

"It  is  singular!"  said  Reade.  "It 
makes  one  think  of  those  people  Dickens 
wrote  of,  who  are  journeying  over  land 
and  sea  to  meet  one.  I  don't  express  the 
idea  very  clearly,  but  you  know  what  I 
mean." 

"I  would  have  cut  it  into  shreds  if  I 
had  imagined,  even  indirectly,  that  it  was 
likely  to  be  the  means  of  bringing  March- 
mont  again  into  her  life !  "  Dinsmore  went 
on,  as  if  speaking  to  himself. 

"  But  will  it  not  bring  you  again  into 
her  life  ?  "  Keade  could  not  refrain  from 
saying.     "  "With  such  an  excellent  oppor- 
tunity, you  surely  will  renew  your  old  I 
acquaintance ! " 

Dinsmore  shook  his  head  decidedly. 
"  I  have  told  you  that  our  paths  in  life 
parted,  and  they  have  diverged  too  widely 
now  for  any  acquaintance  between  Mrs. 
Trafford  and  myself  to  be  pleasant  or 
profitable  to  either  of  us.  I  would  serve 
her  if  I  could,  for  the  sake  of  our  old 
friendship ;  but  the  renewal  of  that  friend- 
ship is  out  of  the  question.  "We'll  drop 
the  subject  now,  if  you  please.  If  you 
were  not  such  a  man  of  fashion,  I'd  ask 
you  to  join  me  in  a  run  over  into  Xor- 
mandy  next  week." 

"Next  week!  You  are  not  thinking 
of  leaving  London  before  the  end  of  the 
season  ? " 

"  "What  is  the  season  to  me  ?  Am  I 
an  attendant  at  kettle-drums  and  dinner- 
parties, and  three  or  four  balls  a  night? 
Don't  talk  nonsense,  but  say  whether  or 
not  you'll  come." 

"  Quite  impossible  now,  though  I  may 
join  you  later,  if  you  are  anywhere  this 
side  of  the  Baltic.  But  I  must  be  off  " — 
glancing  at  his  watch.  "I  have  an  en- 
gagement to  drive  with  the  Pagets  down 


to  Richmond.  Don't  work  too  hard, 
Dinsmore ;  you  begin  to  look  a  trifle  hag- 
gard. I'll  see  you  again  before  long. 
Good-day!" 

After  the  young  fellow  left  the  studio, 
Dinsmore  laid  down  his  palette;  walked 
the  length  of  the  room  once  or  twice,  and 
finally,  pausing  by  an  open  window,  drew 
from  his  pocket  a  letter. 

A  note,  rather ;  for  the  thick  cream- 
tinted  sheet,  which  he  slowly  opened, 
contained  only  a  few  lines  written  in  a 
woman's  fair,  flowing  hand  ;  and  this  was 
what  they  said : 

"Mrs.  Trafford  presents  her  compli- 
ments to  Mr.  Dinsmore,  and  would  like 
to  become  the  purchaser  of  his  picture, 
'  "Wild-Flowers,'  if  it  has  not  been  already 
sold.  She  will  be  exceedingly  obliged  if 
he  will  call  on  her  at  noon  to-morrow." 

This,  together  with  the  date  and  her 
address,  was  all  that  the  note  contained. 
Dinsmore  read  it  over  again,  as  he  had  read 
it  at  least  a  dozen  times  before,  then  re- 
turned the  sheet  to  its  envelope  and  the 
envelope  to  his  pocket,  preserving  the 
while  the  steady  impassiveness  of  demean- 
or which  he  would  have  preserved  if 
Reade,  or  any  one  else,  had  been  standing 

by. 

This  composure,  however,  was  only 
outward  inwardly  his  usually  well-regu- 
lated thoughts  were  in  a  strange  tumult. 
He  himself  was  amazed  at  the  disturbing 
power  of  this  influence  which  had  so  un- 
expectedly entered  his  life. 

"  "What  possible  object  can  she  have 
for  wishing  to  see  me  "  he  muttered, 
aloud.  "  The  picture  is  a  mere  excuse ;  I 
have  not  the  least  doubt  of  that.  "Why 
should  Mrs.  Trafford  wish  to  recall  any- 
thing connected  with  Amy  Reynolds? 
Sometimes  women  of  her  class  have  a 
spurious  sentimentality  about  their  youth  ; 
but  I  should  not  fancy  this  woman  likely 
to  be  subject  to  it.  "Worldly  to  the  core, 
she  must  be  by  this  time  hard  of  heart 
and  cynical  of  mind.  Poor  Amy!"  he 
added,  with  his  voice  suddenly  softening, 
"  there  were  possibilities  of  better  things 


'THE  LUXURY   OF  REGRET.' 


155 


in  her  once — at  least  I  thought  so ;  but  I 
was  not  very  capable  of  judging  then.  It 
can't  be  that  any  shreds  of  that  old  folly 
are  clinging  to  me  still !  "  he  added,  al- 
most savagely.  "If  so,  perhaps  the  best 
thing  I  can  do  will  be  to  go  and  see  her ; 
they  would  not  survive  one  interview,  I 
am  sure !  But " — and  here  he  turned  and 
began  pacing  the  room  again — "is  it 
worth  while  to  give  myself  the  useless 
pain  of  seeing  the  foolish,  tender,  way- 
ward girl  I  used  to  love  transformed  into 
a  woman  of  the  world,  who  lives  only  for 
pleasure  and  conquest?  Surely  such  a 
ghost  would  be  sadder  than  any  that  ever 
stepped  out  of  a  churchyard !  Can  I  bear 
to  face  the  old  memories  that  must  lurk 
in  her  eyes  and  smile,  unless  those  eyes 
and  that  smile  have  changed  more  utterly 
than  I  can  think  possible  ?  No ;  it  is  bet- 
ter to  stay  away.  Her  world  is  not  my 
world,  nor  her  ways  mine ;  we  have  noth- 
ing in  common  save  a  past  which  is  dead 
and  should  be  forgotten.  I  will  write 
and  tell  her  that  I  do  not  wish  to  sell  the 
picture ;  that  will  end  the  matter  at  once 
— and  forever." 

Those  who  have  observed  the  great 
tendency  of  human  nature  to  make  reso- 
lutions and  break  them  will  not  be  great- 
ly surprised  to  learn  that,  in  less  than 
twenty-four  hours,  Dinsmore  broke  the 
one  just  recorded. 

"  After  all,  there  is  no  reason  why  I 
should  avoid  Mrs.  Trafford  more  than  I 
would  avoid  any  other  indifferent  stran- 
ger," he  thought.  "She  is  nothing  to 
me,  nor  am  I  more  to  her  than  a  painter 
who  has  ventured  to  take  what  she  very 
likely  considers  an  undue  liberty  with  her 
face.  It  will  seem  churlish  not  to  go  and 
at  least  apologize  for  that." 

So,  with  the  intention  of  apologizing 
for  this  "  undue  liberty,"  he  found  him- 
self, on  the  day  and  at  the  time  appointed, 
in  Mrs.  Trafford's  drawing-room. 

During  the  few  moments  in  which  he 
was  left  alone  he  looked  around  with 
something  of  the  same  wonder  which 
Marchmont  had  felt  in  the  apartment — 


with  the  same  sense  of  the  great  differ- 
ence between  the  mistress  of  all  this  lux- 
ury and  the  girl  he  had  once  known,  the 
musician's  penniless  daughter  in  her  pov- 
erty-stricken home. 

"  She  has  the  desire  of  her  heart !  "  he 
thought,  as  his  glance  swept  over  all  the 
indications  of  wealth  united  to  taste. 
"  How  she  longed  for  these  things !  How 
she  hated  the  narrowness  and  restraint  of 
poverty !  Have  they  brought  her  happi- 
ness, I  wonder  ?  It  is  a  very  shallow  na- 
ture which  worldly  dissipation  can  satis- 
fy. When  I  look  at  her  face,  shall  I  be 
able  to  tell  whether  it  has  satisfied  her  or 
not?" 

As  he  walked  to  a  window  and  looked 
out  over  the  flower-filled  balcony  to  the 
green  park  that  lay  beyond  in  all  its  sum- 
mer beauty,  a  door  behind  him  opened,  a 
woman's  dress  softly  rustled  across  the 
floor,  and  he  turned  to  meet  once  more 
his  old  companion. 


CHAPTER   VII. 
"THE  LUXURY  OF  REGRET." 

WITH  Marchmont,  as  we  are  aware, 
Mrs.  Trafford's  composure  had  not  failed 
any  more  than  it  was  likely  to  fail  with 
Danesford,  Grantham,  or  any  other  of 
her  numerous  admirers;  but  a  strain  of 
altogether  different  feeling  came  over  her 
when  she  found  herself  on  the  eve  of 
meeting  Hugh  Dinsmore. 

To  analyze  the  different  emotions 
which  entered  into  this  feeling  would  be 
impossible,  but  it  may  be  said  that  it  bore 
as  little  reference  as  possible  to  any  ques- 
tion of  sentimentalism.  To  the  woman 
of  the  world — the  woman  in  whose  ex- 
perience passions  had  lived  and  died  like 
mushrooms — the  memory  of  a  boy's  fancy 
was  hardly  more  than  matter  for  a  smile. 

The  thoughts  which  really  moved  her 
in  meeting  Hugh  were  recollections  of 
the  early  life  with  which  he  was  associ- 


156 


AFTER  MANY   DAYS. 


ated,  and  especially  of  her  father  and 
Felix.  After  her  note  had  been  sent,  she 
was  half  sorry  for  having  written  it. 

"  What  a  fool  I  am ! "  she  thought, 
"  to  bring  upon  myself  the  pain  of  re- 
viving those  old  memories!  " 

But  even  those  old  memories  passed 
from  her  mind  when  she  entered  the 
room  and  saw  the  man  who  turned  to 
meet  her — not  the  familiar  friend  of  her 
youth,  but  an  absolute  stranger. 

"  Hugh  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  involuntari- 
ly, in  a  tone  between  wonder  and  doubt, 
"/sit  Hugh?" 

Dinsmore — who  had  an  advantage 
over  her,  inasmuch  as  he  had  seen  her 
before — advanced  with  a  quiet  grace, 
which  she  observed  even  in  her  surprise. 

"It  is  Hugh,  Mrs.  Trafford,"  he  said. 
"  Let  me  thank  you  for  having  given  me 
an  opportunity  to  meet  you  again." 

He  took  her  hand  as  he  spoke,  smiling 
the  while  at  her  expression  of  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Have  I  altered  beyond  recognition  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  Do  you  doubt  my  identity  ? 
I  can  very  soon  convince  you  that  I  am 
the  same  person  you  knew  of  old,  if  you 
care  to  be  convinced." 

''I  now  see  that  you  a*re,"  she  said, 
looking  into  his  eyes— the  candid,  limpid 
eyes  she  had  once  knqwn  so  well;  "but 
you  have  changed  exceedingly !  Not  more 
than  is  natural — not  more  than  I  have, 
probably ;  but,  you  see,  I  was  not  think- 
ing of  you  like  this.  I  thought  of  my 
old  friend ;  and  you  are  not  he." 

Her  voice  sank  over  the  last  words 
with  the  softness  which  her  admirers 
knew  well  —  perilous  softness  it  often 
was  to  those  who  listened;  but  Hugh 
Dinsmore  answered,  with  the  same  self- 
possessed  quietness  he  had  already  dis- 
played : 

"You  are  mistaken  in  that.  I  am 
your  old  friend  still,  Mrs.  Trafford,  and 
very  glad  to  perceive — very  glad  to  con- 
gratulate you  on — your  brilliant  success 
in  life." 

"  Yet  you  have  been  in  no  haste  to 


congratulate  me,"  she  said,  now  herself 
again. 

She  sat  down  as  she  spoke,  and  mo- 
tioned him  to  a  chair  by  her  side.  The 
first  surprise  over,  it  was  an  absolute  re- 
lief to  her  to  perceive  how  greatly  lie 
had  changed — to  find  that  he  hardly  re- 
minded her  at  all  of  things  which  she  did 
not  wish  to  remember.  An  epicurean 
once,  an  epicurean  always,  Amy  shrank 
as  much  from  painful  memories  and  dis- 
agreeable thoughts  now  as  she  had  shrunk 
in  the  past  from  the  privations  and  dis- 
comforts of  poverty. 

"  But  perhaps  you  did  not  know  that 
I  was  in  London?"  she  added,  as  he 
obeyed  her  gesture,  while  her  sweeping 
glance  took  in  every  point  of  his  personal 
appearance,  every  detail  of  his  manner; 
and  she  decided,  as  a  woman  of  her  class 
can  decide  in  an  instant,  that  her  old 
companion  was  thoroughly  refined,  thor- 
oughly a  gentleman,  thoroughly  "  present- 
able." 

"Yes,  I  knew  that  you  were  in  Lon- 
don," he  answered.  "  You  were  pointed 
out  to  me  in  the  Park,  several  days  ago." 

"  You  knew  it !  " — she  gave  him  the 
full  benefit  of  her  beautiful  eyes  in  a  gaze 
of  reproach — "  and  you  waited  for  me  to 
send  for  you  !  That  does  not  speak  much 
for  the  friendship  in  which  you  bid  me 
believe." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Hugh,  in  his 
straightforward  fashion,  "but  you  must 
comprehend  why  I  did  not  think  for  a 
moment  of  advancing  any  claim  to  your 
notice  on  the  score  of  our  old  acquaint- 
ance. Many  things  have  changed  in  the 
years  since  we  parted — our  respective 
positions  most  of  all." 

"  You  are  famous — or,  at  least,  on  the 
threshold  of  becoming  famous — I  am 
told,"  said  she,  with  the  graceful  tact 
which  had  rounded  many  an  awkward 
conversational  point.  "I  always  knew 
that  you  would  be." 

"I  am  as  little  famous  as  any  other 
hard-working  painter  with  a  moderately 
good  reputation,"  said  Hugh,  uncom- 


THE   LUXURY   OF   REGRET." 


157 


promisingly.  "  But  if  I  were  famous  in 
my  world,  I  should  still  be  as  far  as  over 
from  the  world  you  have  entered." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  the  world  I 
have  entered  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Little  or  nothing,"  he  answered — 
"except  that  it  is  the  world  of  fashion, 
which  closes  its  doors  on  all  who  are 
workers  or  Bohemians;  and  artists  are 
strongly  suspected  of  belonging  to  both 
classes." 

"  Classes  to  which  I  belong  by  birth, 
you  know,"  she  said.  "Hugh,  if  you 
really  have  any  recollection  of  our  old 
friendship,  let  us  drop  this  unreal  tone, 
and  be  ourselves.  Do  you  think  I  have 
forgotten  or  disowned  anything?  Do 
you  think  I  fail  to  remember  the  old  life 
in  Edgerton,  with  papa  giving  music- 
lessons  —  we  growing  up  like  young 
Arabs — my  ambition — our  plans  for  the 
future,  when  you  and  Felix  and  I  were 
to  be  artists  together  ?  If  I  had  forgotten 
any  of  it,  your  picture  would  have  brought 
it  all  back  to  me.  And  I  thought —  Do 
you  care  to  know  what  I  thought  when  I 
saw  that  scene,  torn  out  of  our  old  life, 
and  placed  in  such  a  strange,  new  set- 
ting?" 

Despite  himself,  his  interest  was 
caught  and  held  by  her  changing  face, 
her  vivid  eyes,  her  rich,  earnest  voice. 
"  Yes,"  he  said;  "  you  cannot  doubt  that 
I  should  like  to  know  what  you  thought." 

"I  first  thought,  How  strange  life  is! 
— how  strange  that,  of  we  three,  you 
alone  should  have  fulfilled  your  ambition ! 
The  grass  has  been  growing  for  ten  years 
over  Felix,  and  I — " 

"  You  have  no  need  to  regret  the  loss 
of  your  career,"  said  he,  looking  at  her 
with  a  searching  keenness  of  glance.  "  It 
is  impossible  that  you  can  mean  to  imply 
that  you  do  ?  " 

"I  don't  mean  to  imply  it;  as  you 
say,  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  do 
so.  My  position  in  life  is  all  that  I  can 
ask — is  far,  far  more  brilliant  than  I  had 
any  right  to  suppose  that  it  would  be. 
But  somehow  the  difference  of  everything 


from  what  we  hoped  and  planned  struck 
me  with  a  sense  of  pain  when  I  saw  your 
picture." 

Hugh  bent  his  head — perhaps  to  con- 
ceal a  slightly  satirical  smile  that  curled 
his  lip. 

"It  is  some  French  writer,  I  think — 
French  writers  generally  manage  to  go 
to  the  core  of  things — who  speaks  of  the 
luxury  of  regret,  when  regret  is  not  too 
poignant.  In  your  position,  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford,  I  should  say  that  any  regret  over 
the  '  difference  of  everything  from  what 
we  hoped  and  planned '  must  be  altogeth- 
er a  luxury." 

The  color  deepened  swiftly,  almost 
painfully,  on  her  face.  It  had  been  many 
a  day  since  such  a  tone  as  this — a  tone  of 
irony  and  half-concealed  mockery — had 
fallen  on  her  ear,  used  only  to  softest 
adulation.  She  felt  like  one  who  is  at 
once  rebuffed  and  disconcerted.  If  she 
had  spoken  what  she  thought,  she  would 
have  said,  "  You  are  discourteous  and  ' 
unkind!"  But,  instead  of  that,  she  an- 
swered after  a  minute,  without  the  least 
sign  of  ruffled  feeling  : 

"  I  do  not  think  I  spoke  of  regret ;  I 
only  spoke  of  memory,  and  of  that  pang 
which  memory  always  holds.  I  am  so 
little  given  to  sentiment,  I  am  so  little 
fond  of  harrowing  my  emotions,  that  it 
is  very  seldom  I  indulge  in  what  your 
French  writer  would  esteem  the  luxury 
of  recalling  the  past.  But  your  picture 
made  me  think  of  it ;  and,  since  you  are 
the  only  person  connected  with  that  life 
whom  I  could  possibly  desire  to  see,  I 
venture  to  hold  out  my  hand  to  you 
across  all  the  years." 

A  more  implacable  person  than  Hugh 
would  have  been  disarmed  by  the  gra- 
ciousness  of  these  words,  especially  since 
Mrs.  Trafford  could  infuse  into  her  least 
utterance  a  charm  which  it  is  impossible 
to  define. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  replied,  fall- 
ing back  on  the  conventional  formulas 
which  stand  us  all  in  good  stead.  "I 
must  tell  you  that,  apart  from  the  pleas- 


158 


AFTER  MANY   DAYS. 


ure  of  seeing  you  once  more,  I  have 
obeyed  your  summons  in  order  to  make 
an  explanation  with  regard  to  that  pict- 
ure. It  was  altogether  owing  to  an  acci- 
dent that  I  painted  it.  I  can  hardly  sup- 
pose that  you  remember  one  Sunday 
afternoon  when  we  were  in  that  glen  to- 
gether, and  I  made  a  sketch  of  you — " 

She  interrupted  him  quickly. 

"  I  remember  it  perfectly.  It  was  in 
April,  and  I  told  you  for  the  first  time 
that  I  meant  to  be  a  singer." 

"  Yes,  it  was  that  evening  " — he  did 
not  say  by  what  other  token  she  might 
remember  it — "I  made  a  sketch  of  the 
scene  and  of  yourself,  and  that  sketch  I 
found  a  few  months  ago  in  one  of  my  old 
portfolios.  It  recalled  your  face  to  me 
so  vividly,  that  I  felt  sure  I  could  paint 
it  without  any  other  aid  to  memory; 
and  I  think  I  succeeded — moderately, 
at  least.  I  should  not,  however,  have 
placed  the  picture  on  exhibition  if  I  had 
dreamed  that  there  was  any  danger  of 
recognition ;  and  I  offer  you  a  sincere 
apology  for  having  done  so." 

"There  is  surely  no  need  of  an  apol- 
ogy," she  said.  "  The  girl  whom  you 
painted  there  is  dead  and  gone ;  and  I, 
who  may  be  esteemed  her  lawful  repre- 
sentative, give  you  leave  to  make  any  use 
you  like  of  your  old  sketches  of  her  face. 
Poor,  pretty,  foolish  face !  I  felt  sorry 
to  look  at  it.  But  you  will  think  that  I 
do  indulge  in  the  '  luxury  of  regret '  if  I 
am  absurd  enough  to  talk  like  this !  "  she 
broke  off,  with  a  laugh.  "  May  I  trouble 
you  to  ring  the  bell?  There  is  another 
old  friend  of  yours  whom  I  should  like 
you  to  see. — Ask  Miss  Reynolds  to  come 
here,"  she  said  to  the  servant  who  En- 
tered a  moment  later. 

"So  it  is  my  old  friend  Mariette, 
whom  I  remember  as  insatiable  with  re- 
gard to  stories,  and  avaricious  with  regard 
to  sugar-plums!  "  said  Dinsmore.  "Life 
is  a  kaleidoscope  of  changes,  certainly. 
And  what  has  become  of  Oliver  and 
Ernest?" 

"They  are  both  in  America.     You 


know,  perhaps,  that  Mr.  Trafford  had  an 
extensive  business  connection,  and  many 
friends.  Owing  to  the  influence  of  these, 
both  Oliver  and  Ernest  have  obtained  ex- 
cellent business  positions,  and  are  rising 
in  the  world." 

"  Then  they  are  not  musicians  ?  " 

"  No ;  both  are  musical,  but  neither  a 
musician.  Mariette  has  a  delicious  voice 
— not  so  powerful  as  mine  was,  but  very 
sweet.  You  must  hear  her  sing." 

Just  as  Dinsmore  was  about  to  reply, 
the  door  opened,  and  Mariette  entered — 
a  vision  fitted  to  charm  the  sight  of  any 
man  who  was  a  painter,  in  the  exquisite 
freshness  of  her  blond  loveliness. 

She  bowed  slightly  to  the  stranger, 
and  then  addressed  her  sister :  "  You  sent 
for  me,  Amy  ? " 

"Yes,"  Amy  answered;  "I  sent  for 
you  to  see  an  old  friend.  Have  you  no 
idea  who  this  is?" 

Mariette  turned  her  blue  eyes  on  the 
person  thus  presented  to  her,  and,  after 
an  instant's  puzzled  scrutiny,  leaped  to 
the  right  conclusion. 

"  It  must  be  Hugh !  "  she  said.  "  We 
have  no  other  old  friends  in  London — 
have  we,  Amy?  I  think  it  must  be — ah, 
I  know  it  is  Hugh !  "  she  cried,  holding 
out  a  tiny,  lily-leaf  hand,  as  Dinsmore 
drew  near,  with  a  softer  light  in  his  eyes 
than  had  shone  there  for  Mrs.  Trafford. 

"  Would  you  like  to  hear  the  story  of 
the  'Ugly  Duckling'  again,  Mariette?" 
he  asked,  smiling.  "  You  will  allow  me 
to  say  '  Mariette '  once,  for  the  sake  of  old 
acquaintance — will  you  hot?  My  dear 
little  playfellow,  what  a  charming  woman 
you  have  become !  I  believe  I  used  to 
call  you  the  '  Fair  One  with  the  Golden 
Locks '  and  the  title  suits  you  better  now 
than  ever." 

"And  you — oh,  how  handsome  and 
nwe-looking  you  have  become !  "  cried 
the  fair  one,  with  delightful  frankness. 
"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  again ! — and 
what  on  earth  should  you  call  me  but 
'  Mariette  ? '  I  remember  the  '  Ugly 
Duckling '  ever  so  well,  and  I  would  like 


THE   LUXURY   OF  REGRET.' 


159 


to  hear  it  again.  You  were  the  very  best 
story-teller  I  ever  knew,  Hugh — may  I 
call  you  Hugh  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  may !  As  you  re- 
mark, what  else  on  earth  should  you  call 
me?" 

"I  feel  very  much  as  if  I  were  taking 
a  great  liberty  with  a  stranger,  for  there 
is  really  no  sign  of  Hugh  about  you — ex- 
cept, perhaps,  your  eyes. — "What  do  you 
think,  Amy? — should  you  ever  have 
known  him?  " 

"Hardly,  I  think,"  Amy  answered. 
"  But  we  are  apt  to  forget  what  a  length 
of  time  ten  years  is,  and  what  differences 
it  makes.  No  doubt  you  and  I  are 
changed  as  much  as  Mr.  Dinsmore." 

Mr.  Dinsmore !  Mariette  opened  her 
eyes  at  that  name,  and  would  no  doubt 
have  opened  them  a  little  wider  if  she 
had  known  that  it  was  the  first  time  her 
sister  had  uttered  it — an  utterance  due 
to  the  curious  mortification  with  which 
she  noted  how  much  warmer  Hugh's 
greeting  was  for  Mariette  than  it  had 
been  for  herself. 

"  Of  course  /have  changed  immense- 
ly," said  Mariette;  "but,  although  you 
have  improved  very  much,  Amy,  I  do  not 
think  you  have  altered  beyond  recogni- 
tion. There  was  Mr.  Marchmont,  for 
instance,  who  knew  you." 

Involuntarily  Dinsmore  looked  at  Mrs. 
Trafford,  but,  quick  as  was  his  glance,  it 
failed  to  detect  any  sign  of  discomposure 
on  her  face,  while  her  manner  was  coldly 
careless  as  she  answered : 

"  That  is  not  exactly  a  case  in  point, 
Mariette.  Though  Mr.  Marchmont  had 
heard  my  name,  and  had  seen  me  several 
times,  he  was  not  sure  of  my  identity  un- 
til it  was  settled  by  Mr.  Dinsmore's  pict- 
ure." 

"  "When  I  heard  that,"  said  Hugh, 
bluntly,  "I  was  very  sorry  for  having 
painted  the  picture,  I  assure  you,  Mrs. 
Trafford." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  You  need  not  be  sorry,"  she  said, 
"/am  not.  Good  and  evil  are  mixed  in 


everything;  and  the  good  counterbal- 
ances the  evil  in  this,  I  think.  But  who 
told  you  anything  about  it  ? " 

"A  young  fellow  named  Eeade — an 
artist,  who  was  at  the  Academy  that  day 
with  the  party  to  which  Marchmont  was 
attached." 

"  Some  people  of  whom  he  spoke  to 
me,  probably.  What  is  their  name  ? " 

"  Paget  is  the  name  Reade  mentioned. 
He  talked  a  great  deal  of  a  girl  to  whom 
he  has  taken  a  fancy,  in  whose  train 
Marchmont  is  dangling." 

"  Indeed!    She  must  be  an  heiress." 

"So  I  said  at  once;  and  since  then  I 
have  seen  an  American  who  confirms  my 
judgment,  by  telling  me  that  she  is  a  con- 
siderable heiress." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Mrs.  Trafford.  She  was 
silent  for  a  minute,  and  her  eyes  turned 
absently  out  of  the  window  to  the  green 
trees  in  the  park,  and  the  smoky-blue  sky 
above.  "  And  this  Mr.  Eeade  has  taken 
a  fancy  to  the  girl,  you  say?  "  she  asked. 
""What  order  of  person  is  he?  Artists 
belong  to  all  classes,  as  we  know." 

"Eeade  belongs  toMayfair  more  than 
to  Bohemia,"  Hugh  answered.  "He 
comes  of  good  people,  has  genuine  talent, 
but  no  industry,  and  just  fortune  enough 
to  ruin  him  for  all  practical  purposes." 

"  Agreeable  ?  " 

"  Exceedingly  so !  At  this  moment  I 
can't  think  of  any  one  more  agreeable." 

"Then  I  am  going  to  begin  our  new 
acquaintance  by  asking  a  favor  of  you. 
Present  this  very  agreeable  gentleman  to 
me — will  you  not?  " 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  be  most  happy 
to  be  presented.  But — shall  I  be  doing 
him  a  kindness,  Mrs.  Trafford  ? " 

She  blushed  a  little,  for  she  under- 
stood all  that  the  grave  tone,  the  graver 
eyes,  implied. 

"  /  shall  not  harm  him,  if  that  is  what 
you  mean,"  she  answered.  "  How  have 
you  learned  to  think  me  so  dangerous  ?  " 

"According  to  the  rules  of  gallantry, 
I  believe  I  should  say  I  have  seen  you, 
and  that  is  enough  ;  but  as  a  plain  mat- 


160 


AFTER  MANY   DAYS. 


ter  of  truth,  I  must  add  that  I  have  also 
heard  of  you.  Mrs.  Trafford's  reputation 
is  not  confined  to  one  capital  of  Europe." 

"  Mrs.  Trafford's  old  friends — nay,  it 
is  foolish  to  speak  in  the  plural,  when,  to 
be  honest,  one  must  be  singular — Mrs. 
Trafford's  old  friend  might  suspend  judg- 
ment until  he  learns  how  far  report  has 
dealt  justly  with  her." 

Mrs.  Trafford's  old  friend  looked  at 
the  beautiful,  beguiling  face,  and  felt  his 
heart  hardening.  Like  most  men  of  his 
class,  he  had  an  ideal  of  womanhood 
which  was  as  far  as  possible  removed 
from  a  coquette  who  lived  only  to  ensnare 
men's  hearts  and  win  their  homage. 

"If  there  had  been  much  room  to 
doubt  its  justice,"  he  said,  constrained  to 
honesty,  "  I  should  have  been  convinced 
by  a  scene  in  Richmond  Park  upon  which 
I  stumbled  a  few  days  ago.  My  presence 
there  was  an  accident,  pure  and  simple — 
one  of  those  accidents  against  which  no 
foresight  could  guard ;  but  you  will  allow 
me  to  apologize  for  it? " 

"  As  well  as  for  having  painted  the 
picture  ? "  she  said,  smiling  a  little. 
"What  will  you  apologize  for  next?  So 
it  was  you  in  Richmond  Park  that  even- 
ing !  I  had  an  odd  instinct  of  your  pres- 
ence, though  I  did  not  recognize  you. 
The  scene  upon  which  you  stumbled  was 
very  harmless,  but  I  suppose  I  could  not 
convince  you  of  that.  Pray,  do  not  think 
of  going !  " — as  he  rose.  "  I  have  planned 
a  nice  luncheon — you  and  Mariette  and  I 
alone.  Besides,  we  have  not  settled  about 
the  picture,  and  I  have  not  asked  you  a 
syllable  about  any  of  the  people  in  Edg- 
erton." 

"We  can  settle  about  the  picture  in 
half  a  dozen  words,"  said  he,  reluctantly. 

"But  those  half-dozen  words  cannot 
be  spoken  at  present,"  said  Mariette. 
"Here  comes  Thompson  to  announce 
luncheon,  and  you  may  consider  yourself 
t  prisoner,  without  hope  of  grace." 

It  was  too  late  for  retreat,  so  Hugh 
made  the  best  of  the  situation — certainly 
not  one  of  which  most  men  would  have 


been  inclined  to  complain.  Even  he  fell 
little  inclination  to  do  so,  when  he  found 
himself  in  the  dining-room  seated  at  a 
luncheon-table  pretty  enough  for  a  pict- 
ure. 

Conversation  was  less  personal  and 
more  easy  here  than  it  had  been  in  the 
drawing-room ;  it  touched  lightly  on 
many  different  topics,  and  Dinsmore  soon 
perceived  that,  if  Mrs.  Trafford  lived 
chiefly  for  the  world  of  fashion,  she  had 
at  least  not  failed  to  enlarge  her  mind 
and  her  sympathies  by  a  broader  culture 
than  is  usual  with  women. 

Mariette  was  too  young  for  the  same 
result  to  be  apparent  in  her,  but  she  pos- 
sessed a  childlike  gayety,  a  daring,  yet 
graceful  frankness,  irresistibly  attractive. 

"  I  should  like  to  paint  you,"  Dins- 
more  said  to  her,  presently.  "  Do  you 
not  think  you  could  sit  to  me  ?  I  need 
just  such  a  head  as  yours  for  a  picture  on 
which  I  am  engaged." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted !  "  she  respond- 
ed.— "  You  see  my  turn  has  come  at  last, 
Amy  ! — You  must  understand,"  she  con- 
tinued, turning  to  Hugh,  "  that  the  artists 
in  Italy  all  raved  over  Amy,  and  would 
have  given  anything  to  have  obtained  a 
sitting  from  her.  But  she  has  never 
even  had  her  portrait  painted — which  I 
think  a  shame  !  " 

"  Do  you  remember  the  old  arrange- 
ment between  us,  that  you  should  paint 
my  portrait  ? "  Amy  asked,  looking  at 
her  guest. 

"  In  violet  velvet  and  point-lace — yes, 
I  remember,"  he  answered.  "The  violet 
velvet  and  point-lace  are  fortunately 
quite  practicable  now :  but,  unfortunate- 
ly, I  am  not  a  portrait-painter,  and  there- 
fore not  qualified  to  do  justice  to  such  a 
subject." 

"  You  are  satisfied  to  have  done,  more 
than  justice  to  the  same  subject  at  a  dif-. 
ferent  period.  A  propos,  may  I  ask  if  you 
mean  to  let  me  become  the  purchaser  of 
'Wild-Flowers?'" 

"  I  did  not  paint  the  picture  with  any 
intention  of  selling  it,"  he  replied,  quietly. 


"OLD  SENTIMENT." 


161 


"  I  cannot  allow  you  to  become  its  pur- 
chaser, but  if  you  will  accept  it — " 

She  interrupted  him  decidedly,  almost 
haughtily. 

"  That  is  altogether  out  of  the  ques- 
tion! Excuse  me  for  having  troubled 
you  with  regard  to  the  matter,  and  let 
me  congratulate  you  on  your  brilliant 
success  in  the  '  Wacht  am  Ehein.'  I  am 
told  that  it  is  one  of  the  pictures  most 
admired  in  the  exhibition  this  year." 

"  Well,  Amy,"  said  Mariette,  an  hour 
later,  "  what  do  you  think  of  Hugh  ?  " 

"I  think,"  answered  Mrs.  Trafford, 
"that  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  more 
foolish  than  to  renew  old  associations  of 
any  kind.  Characters  change  quite  as 
much  as  circumstances;  and,  after  the 
lapse  of  years,  people  who  were  friends 
once  are  less  than  strangers.  If  I  had 
ever  doubted  that  the  experiment  was  a 
rash  one,  I  should  be  sure  of  it  now." 

"  Then  you  do  not  like  Hugh  ?  Is  that 
what  you  mean  ? " 

"I  did  not  exactly  mean  that;  but 
there  is  little  sympathy  between  us ;  and, 
in  short,  one  had  better  be  satisfied  with 
those  who  are  of  one's  own  world,  and 
with  whom  one  has  tastes  and  habits  in 
common." 

"  I  thought  we  found  a  great  many 
tastes  in  common  with  Hugh,"  said  Mari- 
ette, sauntering  up  to  a  mirror  in  order 
to  regard  the  face  at  which  Hugh  had 
gazed  so  admiringly,  "  and  I  don't  know 
how  you  feel  about  it,  but  I  think  that 
the  visit  to  his  studio,  which  he  asked  us 
to  make,  will  be  delightful." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

"OLD     SENTIMENT." 

"WILL  I  do,  Mary?  Pray  tell  me 
quite  honestly  if  you  like  the  effect  of 
this  dress?" 

"  What  a  question,  Nelly!  "  said  Mrs. 
11 


Paget.  "As  if  one  could  venture  not  to 
like  a  dress  of  Worth's?  It  is  beautiful 
— ravissant,  as  the  French  say — and  you 
look  better  than  I  ever  saw  you !  " 

"  One  is  uncertain  about  these  new 
shades,"  said  Nelly.  "They  are  very 
trying." 

"I  think  them  lovely,"  said  Mrs. 
Paget,  who  belonged  to  the  order  of 
women  who  think  anything  lovely  that 
is  fashionable.  "  The  effect  is  simply 
exquisite;  you  may  be  sure  of  that." 

Pale-pink  silk  and  lilac  crape — could 
any  one,  save  Worth,  venture  upon  such 
a  combination?  Yet,  as  Mrs.  Paget  de- 
clared, it  was  "  simply  exquisite,"  and 
very  becoming  to  Nelly's  blooming  com- 
plexion, while  her  pretty  brown  hair  was 
coifed  high,  and  dressed  with  a  cluster 
of  pale-pink  roses  and  a  spray  of  lilac. 

If  she  wanted  a  confirmation  of  her 
sister-in-law's  opinion,  Marchmont's  face 
gave  it  when  she  entered  the  drawing- 
room  where  he  and  Mr.  Paget  were  wait- 
ing, amusing  themselves  the  while  by 
looking  at  the  animated  scene  which  the 
London  streets  presented  at  half-past 
seven  o'clock  on  a  June  evening,  when 
all  the  world  seems  to  be  going  out  for 
purposes  of  pleasure.  The  Paget  party 
were  also  going  out  to  dine  with  Mrs. 
Trafford.  Hence  Miss  Paget's  careful 
toilet  and  her  anxiety  concerning  it. 

As  she  entered,  Marchmont  turned, 
and  his  quick  gaze  of  admiration  brought 
a  bright  glow  to  the  girl's  cheek. 

"  How  charming  you  look!  "  he  said, 
advancing  toward  her.  "I  thought  I 
knew  all  your  capabilities  for  looking 
well,  but  I  see  I  was  mistaken ;  you  have 
developed  a  new  one  to-night." 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  my  toilet,"  said 
she.  "I  know  that  your  taste  is  admi- 
rable, and  I  trust  a  great  deal  to  your 
opinion.  Of  course,  with  Mrs.  Trafford 
and  her  beautiful  sister  I  shall  be  totally 
eclipsed ;  still,  I  was  anxious  to  look  my 
modest  best." 

"You  certainly  have  succeeded,  and 
I  do  not  think  you  need  entertain  any 


162 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


fear  of  an  eclipse.  Modesty  is  a  good 
thing,  no  doubt;  but  sometimes  it  is  a 
misplaced  thing — and  it  is  grievously 
misplaced  with  you,  just  now.  I  wish 
you  would  give  me  leave  to  tell  you  all 
that  I  think  of  your  appearance — and  of 
yourself." 

His  voice  sank  low,  his  eyes  grew 
eloquently  soft,  and  Nelly's  heart  beat 
fast  under  her  pink  silk  and  lilac  crape. 

People  who  profess  to  analyze  emo- 
tions, and  who  can  tell  to  a  nicety  exactly 
where  fancy  ends  and  love  begins,  might 
have  said  that  it  was  only  her  fancy 
which  was  enlisted  in  Marchmont's  favor. 
'Yet  fancy  not  only  borders  so  closely  on 
love  as  to  be  constantly  mistaken  for  it, 
but  it  often  does  duty  creditably  for  the 
latter  even  to  the  end — that  inevitable 
end  of  disillusionment  which  awaits  all 
spurious  sentiments.  "Whatever  was  the 
cause,  her  heart  beat  fast;  of  that  there 
can  be  no  doubt. 

Within  the  last  day  or  two 'March- 
mont's devotion  had  unmistakably  ad- 
vanced toward  a  culmination — for  had  he 
not  tested  his  old  influence  with  Mrs. 
Trafford  and  found  it  lacking? — and  does 
any  man  wise  in  the  wisdom  of  the  world 
peril  a  certain  and  positive  good  for  an 
uncertain  and  illusory  one  ? 

After  he  left  the  house  of  the  woman 
who  had  once  loved  him,  and  began  to 
reckon  up  the  chances  of  winning  that 
love  again,  not  even  vanity  could  blind 
him  to  the  fact  that  there  was  an  exceed- 
ingly faint  possibility  of  doing  so.  A 
woman  of  the  world  like  Mrs.  Trafford 
would  undoubtedly  nftrry  for  the  things 
of  the  world.  With  her  face,  with  her 
cleverness,  above  all,  with  her  fortune — 
reckoned  by  those  who  knew  best  at  a 
hundred  thousand  pounds — what  matri- 
monial height  might  she  not  hope  to 
gain  ?  No ;  the  prize  was  glittering,  but 
to  try  to  grasp  it  was  to  waste  time  and 
effort  in  chasing  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  while 
ready  to  his  hand  was  Nelly  Paget  and 
Nelly  Paget's  fortune,  to  tide  over  the 
financial  ruin  which  threatened  him. 


[  Certain  it  was  that,  with  the  aid  of 
many  cigars,  Mr.  Marchmont  weighed 
every  pro  and  con  of  the  question,  and 
acted  with  his  usual  devotion  to  his  own 
interest  in  deciding  to  Abandon  all  hope 
of  reviving  "old  sentiment"  with  Mrs. 
Trafford. 

"After  the  life  she  has  led  for  ten 
years,  she  will  be  altogether  material  in 
her  views  of  things,"  he  thought.  "  She 
will  ask,  'What  shall  I  gain  by  such  a 
step  ? '  and  it  is  very  clear  that  she  would 
gain  nothing,  in  comparison  with  what 
she  now  possesses.  If  I  could  only  have 
looked  into  the  future — if  I  could  only 
have  imagined  that  she  would  marry  old 
Trafford — I  should  not  have  parted  with 
her  as  I  did.  I  should  have  kept  a  hold 
on  her  which  would  be  useful  to  me 
now." 

A  vain  regret,  however,  and,  being 
vain,  one  over  which  Mr.  Marchmont  did 
not  waste  reflection.  He  turned  his  at- 
tention at  once  to  Nelly  Paget,  and  being 
anxious,  for  certain  private  reasons,  to 
make  things  sure,  he  pressed  toward  the 
point  of  a  declaration. 

It  was  a  point  from  which  the  girl, 
with  the  coquetry  of  her  sex,  cleverly 
fenced  him  off.  She  liked  him,  but  hers 
was  too  honest  a  nature  not  to  distrust 
him  also — vaguely  but  decidedly.  He 
was  tender,  gallant,  charming,  but  in  her 
heart  she  could  net  feel  as  if  he  really 
loved  her;  and  this  instinct  held  her 
back  from  loving  him. 

Yet,  as  I  have  said,  fancy  often  does 
duty  for  love ;  so  there  can  be  no  doubt 
of  the  flutter  of  Nelly's  heart — which 
brings  us  back  to  the  point  from  which 
we  diverged. 

Notwithstanding  this  flutter,  she 
looked  up  at  him  with  a  self-possessed 
smile : 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  hear  your 
opinion  of  my  appearance  and  of  myself, 
and  have  no  doubt  I  would  derive  a  great 
deal  of  useful  information  from  it;  but 
the  question  is,  Would  it  be  sincere?" 

"You    must    understand  very   little 


"OLD  SENTIMENT.' 


163 


what  you  are  to  me,  if  you  think  it  could 
be  other  than  sincere ! "  he  answered. 
"  Nelly,  you  are  unkind — nay,  more ;  you 
are  unjust — when  you  say  such  things! 
You  may  not  caijp  to  accept  what  I  offer 
you,  but  at  least  you  should  believe  in  it." 

Nelly's  hand  began  to  tremble  so  that 
she  could  scarcely  button  the  glove  over 
which  her  head  was  bent.  This,  if  March- 
mont  had  only  known  it,  was  his  moment 
of  opportunity.  They  were,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  alone,  standing  together  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  while  Mr.  Paget 
remained  obligingly  at  the  window  and 
eazed  out,  with  the  din  of  cabs  and  car- 
riages filling  his  ears. 

"Believe  what,  monsieur?"  the  girl 
asked,  as  lightly  as  she  could,  and  then 
went  on  hastily,  conscious  that  she  had 
involuntarily  asked  a  very  leading  ques- 
tion. "  I  don't  believe  in  anything  very 
much ;  I  haven't  faith,  I  suppose.  I  have 
even  ventured  to  doubt  "Worth  since  I  put 
on  this  dress.  But  your  commendation 
reassures  me." 

"  If  you  have  faith  in  me  that  far, 
have  faith  further,"  said  he,  half  jestingly. 

A  moment  before  he  had  been  on  the 
verge  of  a  declaration ;  but,  aware  that 
Walter  might  turn  or  Mrs.  Paget  enter 
at  any  instant,  he  felt  inclined  to  defer  it 
now. 

After  all,  time  and  opportunity  were 
in  his  own  hand,  he  thought,  as  many  a 
man  had  thought  before ;  forgetting  that 
tide  in  the  affairs  of  men  which  must  be 
taken  at  the  flood  to  lead  on  to  fortune. 

"  I  have  perfect  faith  in  your  good 
taste,"  said  she,  evading  the  direct  issue, 
after  a  fashion  common  with  women. 
"  If  you  honestly  think  me  looking  well,  I 
shall  go  with  a  lighter  heart  to  meet  the 
wonderful  Mrs.  Trafford.  By-the-by, 
have  you  ever  revived  the  tender  remi- 
niscences of  the  past  with  her?  Does 
she  still  remember  anything  of  the  old 
romance  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  Mrs.  Trafford  only  once, 
as  you  are  aware,  and  on  that  occasion  I 
certainly  made  no  effort  to  revive  any 


'  tender  reminiscences.'  In  fact,  I  am  by 
no  means  sure  that  there  are  any  to  be 
revived.  As  I  told  you,  we  had  a  flirta- 
tion long  ago,  but  it  did  not  occur  to 
either  of  us  to  attach  any  importance  to 
the  affair." 

"  It  is  really  edifying  to  hear  how 
lightly  you  speak  of  such  trifles  as  dead- 
and-gone  flirtations!  I  wonder —  Ah, 
Mary,  here  you  are!  I  was  just  thinking 
we  shall  be  rather  late !  " 

"  The  carriage  has  been  waiting  some 
time,"  said  Mr.  Paget,  turning  round. 
"  If  you  are  ready,  my  dear,  we  had  bet- 
ter go." 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  party  were 
ushered  into  Mrs.  Trafford's  drawing- 
room  ;  and  Mrs.  Trafford,  rising  from  a 
chair  near  one  of  the  open,  flower-filled 
windows  came  forward  to  receive  them. 

Not  alone,  however,  had  she  been  sit- 
ting in  the  cool,  fragrant  apartment;  a 
masculine  figure  rose  also,  and  stood  in 
the  background  while  she  received  the 
guests. 

"Charmed  to  meet  you,  Mrs.  Paget! 
Sorry  not  to  have  found  you  at  home  the 
other  day. — Miss  Paget,  I  am  glad  to  know 
you,  and  Mr.  Paget  also. — Ah,  Mr.  March- 
mont,  how  do  you  do  ?  " 

This,  or  something  like  it,  was  all  that 
she  said;  but  the  grace  of  her  manner, 
her  voice,  her  smile,  made  the  common- 
place words  a  welcome  fit  for  royalty. 
The  gentleman  in  the  background  was 
presented  as  Colonel  Danesford,  and  Nel- 
ly immediately  indemnified  him  as  Mrs. 
Trafford's  principal  attendant  whenever 
she  had  seen  that  lady  in  public. 

Conversation  for  a  few  minutes  was 
general,  and- as  brilliant  as  it  usually  is  on 
such  occasions,  when  matters  are  further 
enlivened  by  an  utter  absence  of  all  sub- 
jects of  common  interest.  Then  a  door 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  apartment 
opened,  and  with  a  soft  rustle  of  silk  and 
muslin — azure  silk  under  white  muslin 
and  lace — Mariette  entered. 

Her  beauty  for  a  moment  fascinated 
all  eyes,  so  fresh  and  nymph-like  was  it ; 


164 


AFTER  MANY  DATS. 


and,  while  her  greetings  were  being 
made,  another  guest  entered,  toward 
whom  Mrs.  Trafford  turned  cordially, 
and  whom  the  Pagets  recognized,  with 
surprise,  as  their  friend  Mr.  Reade. 

The  surprise  on  Marchmont's  part  was 
altogether  unmixed  with  pleasure.  Ex- 
actly jealous  of  this  new  acquaintance  he 
was  not ;  but  he  disapproved  of  him  for 
several  reasons — among  which  his  atten- 
tions to  Nelly  Paget  and  his  friendship 
with  Hugh  Dinsmore  stood  chief.  To 
meet  him  here  was  something  which  he 
certainly  had  not  reckoned  upon. 

Dinner  was  announced  almost  imme- 
diately, and  Mrs.  Trafford  laid  her  hand 
on  Mr.  Paget's  arm,  Colonel  Danesford 
offered  his  to  Mrs.  Paget,  Marchmont  took 
Mariette,  and,  as  a  consequence  of  these 
combinations,  Reade  and  Nelly  found 
themselves  together. 

"Why  did  you  never  tell  me  that  you 
knew  Mrs.  Trafford?"  she  whispered, 
on  their  way  to  the  dining-room. 

"  For  the  very  good  reason  that  I  have 
not  seen  you  since  I  knew  her,"  he  an- 
swered. "I  called  yesterday,  but  you 
were  out." 

"  Yes ;  we  were  sorry  to  have  missed 
you.  I  think  life  is  made  up  of  missing 
people  that  one  likes  to  see,  and  meet- 
ing those  for  whom  one  does  not 
care." 

"It  is  too  often  the  case;  but  some- 
times Fate  makes  amends  by  allowing  one 
to  meet  the  person  that  one  wishes  most 
to  see — of  which  happy  chance  I  am  an  ex- 
ample at  the  present  moment." 

The  color  deepened  a  little  on  Nelly's 
pretty  face,  but  she  laughed  lightly. 

"Does  that  mean  Mrs.  Trafford  I"  she 
asked. 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  must  know  very 
well  whom  it  means,"  he  answered ;  and  if 
we  stretch  a  point,  and  suppose  that  she 
had  not  known,  his  voice  would  have  told 
her. 

The  dinner  was  perfect,  and  passed 
off  admirably;  for  Mrs.  Trafford  was  a 
thorough  mistress  of  social  art,  and  could 


have  made  harmonious  any  elements  more 
jarring  than  those  there  assembled. 

As  the  party  was  small,  the  conversa- 
tion was  in  a  great  measure  general,  but 
there  were  some  side-interviews  carried 
on — notably  one  between  Marchmont  and 
Mariette. 

"  Of  course  I  remember  you !  "  the 
latter  said.  "  How  could  you  think  I 
would  not?  I  was  just  at  the  age  when 
sugar-plums  sink  deepest  into  the  heart — 
and  you  were  very  lavish  with  them! 
Do  you  chance  to  recollect  an  old  apple- 
tree  in  our  garden  ?  I  can  fancy  myself 
seated  there  this  moment,  with  a  paper  of 
sweets !  " 

An  old  apple-tree!  Did  Marchmont 
not  remember  it  ?  Yet  he  almost  felt  like 
a  man  in  a  dream,  as  he  looked  across  the 
table  at  Mrs.  Trafford's  beautiful  face, 
and  thought  of  the  girl  he  had  seen 
perched  among  its  gnarled  boughs. 

"  You  were  so  young,"  he  said,  "  and 
your  life  has  been  so  different  since  that 
time,  that  I  am  a  little  surprised  you 
should  remember  anything  connected  with 
that  old  existence !  " 

"  I  believe  people  say  there  are  such ' 
things  as  dormant  memories,"  she  replied. 
"  My  memories  were  rather  dormant,  un- 
til I  met  one  of  our  oldest  friends  the 
other  day.  Do  you  remember  Hugh 
Dinsmore,  Mr.  Marchmont?" 

The  blue  eyes  looked  at  him  with 
childlike  innocence — it  may  be  added, 
more  feigned  than  real.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  Mariette  remembered  very  well  how 
matters  stood  between  those  two  unequal 
rivals  in  the  past,  and  shrewdly  suspected 
how  much  love  they  bore  each  other  in 
the  present. 

"I  remember  a  boy  of  that  name  who 
used  to  be  seen  occasionally  in  your  fa- 
ther's house,"  he  answered.  "He  has 
since  become  a  painter,  I  believe." 

"He  painted  ' Wild-Flowers '  —  the 
picture  in  front  of  which  I  saw  you  at 
the  Academy.  You  were  struck  like  my- 
self— were  you  not? — with  the  portrait 
of  Amy  ? " 


;OLD   SENTIMENT." 


165 


"So  much  struck  that  I  recognized 
the  face  at  once,  and  it  enabled  me  to 
identify  Mrs.  Trafford  as  the  charming 
girl  I  knew  long  ago.  I  owe  Mr.  Dins- 
more  thanks  for  having  painted  the  pict- 
ure, therefore — " 

"Mr.  Dinsmore  would  be  gratified  to 
receive  them,  I  am  sure,"  said  Mariette, 
with  a  gleam  of  mischief  under  her 
sleeping  lashes.  "He  has  an  excellent 
memory  for  everything  connected  with 
our  old  life,  and  would  remember  you, 
I  have  no  doubt." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Marchmont,  with 
a  careless  air  which  did  credit  to  his  self- 
command,  since  at  that  moment  he  rec- 
ollected only  too  well  what  good  cause 
Hugh  Dinsmore  had  to  remember  him. 
With  the  vividness  of  a  picture  there  rose 
before  him  the  aspect  of  a  country-road, 
a  sunset  sky,  and  a  shabby  boy  who  stood 
before  him  and  demanded  to  be  heard  in 
behalf  of  Amy  Reynolds ;  how  contempt- 
uously he  had  thrust  him  out  of  his  path 
then,  and  now —  Well,  well,  such  mem- 
ories were  intrusive,  and  by  no  means 
agreeable  with  good  plats  and  good  wines 
before  one,  and  a  lovely  girl  at  one's  side ! 

After  dinner,  when  the  ladies  were 
alone  in  the  drawing-room,  Mrs.  TrafFord 
sat  down  beside  Miss  Paget,  and  asked 
that  young  lady  if  ehe  entertained  any 
predilection  for  artists. 

"  Not  for  any  artist  in  particular,"  she 
said,  with  a  soft  laugh — "  only  for  artists 
in  general.  Would  you  like  to  pay  a 
visit  to  a  studio?  Mr.  Dinsmore  has 
kindly  invited  my  sister  and  myself  to  go 
to  see  his  paintings,  and  if  it  would  en- 
tertain you  to  accompany  us,  I  am  sure 
he  would  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"  It  would  entertain  me  very  much !  " 
said  Nelly.  "I  should  like  it  of  all 
things,  if  you  think  Mr.  Dinsmore  would 
not  object — " 

"  I  will  answer  for  that.  Under  any 
circumstances,  Mr.  Dinsmore  could  only 
be  charmed  to  receive  yon ;  but  he  feels 
a  very  special  interest  in  you — shall  I  tell 
you  why? " 


"Yes,  pray  tell  me!" — and  Nelly 
opened  her  brown  eyes.  "  I  should  not 
have  fancied  that  he  had  ever  heard  my 
name." 

"  Not  even  from  Mr.  Keade  ?  Then 
you  have  very  little  idea  of  the  serious 
impression  you  have  made  upon  that  gen- 
tleman. A  propos,  Mr.  Dinsmore  tells  me 
that  he  belongs  to  good  people,  and  is  not 
at  all  dependent  upon  his  pictures  for 
bread ;  in  consequence  of  which,  indeed, 
he  paints  very  few." 

"  That  is  a  pity,  if  he  has  genius !  " 

"Not  genius,  perhaps,  but  a  great 
deal  of  talent,  no  doubt.  Let  us  hope 
that  his  wife — when  he  gets  one — will 
make  him  do  better.  If  she  has  any 
love  of  art,  any  pride  in  his  success,  she 
will!" 

"Those  are  large  «/s,"  said  Nelly, 
smiling,  yet  blushing,  she  hardly  knew 
why. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Trafford. 
"  Such  women  are  readily  found,  and  I 
cannot  imagine  anything  pleasanter  than 
to  be  able  to  exert  an  influence  of  the 
j  kind.  If  I  were  not  altogether  past  the 
j  age  of  sentiment,  I  should  be  tempted  to 
make  him  fall  in  love  with  me  for  the 
sake  of  exerting  it,"  she  added,  with  an- 
other soft  laugh. 

"  You  past  the  age  of  sentiment !  " 
said  Nelly,  looking  at  the  beautiful,  youth- 
ful face.  "  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Trafford,  but 
I  cannot  believe  that." 

"It  is  true,  nevertheless,"  said  Mrs. 
Trafford,  with  an  unruffled  serenity. 

At  this  point  the  gentlemen  entered, 
and  the  fair  hostess  moved  away,  leaving 
a  vacant  seat  on  the  sofa  by  Nelly,  which 
Keade  at  once  perceived,  and  toward 
which  he  quickly  made  his  way. 

Marchmont,  who  began  to  entertain 
an  uneasy  sense  of  possible  danger  in  that 
direction,  was  about  to  follow  and  at 
least  prevent  a  tete-d-tete,  when  Mrs. 
Trafford  interposed,  and  nipped  his  inten- 
tion in  the  bud. 

"  I  have  scarcely  exchanged  a  word 
with  you,  Mr.  Marchmont !  " — how  be- 


166 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


gulling  the  sweet  voice  was !     "  Will  you  J 
not  take  this  chair,  and  let  us  recall  some 
of  our  old  associations  ?  " 

The  chair  which  her  hand  indicated 
was  immediately  beside  the  one  into 
which  she  gracefully  sank — in  her  silken 
draperies,  her  soft  laces,  her  shining  jew- 
els, a  picture  to  fascinate  any  man's  eye, 
to  chain  any  man's  attention  ! 

It  is  quite  unnecessary  to  say  that 
her  words  had  the  intended  effect  upon 
Marchmont,  and  he  yielded  without  an 
instant's  demur  to  the  invitation  so  gra- 
ciously extended. 

"I  am  only  too  happy  to  have  an  op- 
portunity of  recalling  those  old  associa- 
tions with  you ! "  he  said,  taking  the 
chair.  "  If  I  ever  shrank  from  them,  it 
was  only  because  I  did  not  know  whether 
I  should  ever  see  you  again,  or  how  much 
I  might  find  you  changed." 

"  Outwardly,  years  change  us  a  great 
deal,"  said  she,  indolently  waving  a  fan 
to  and  fro,  and  sinking  her  voice ;  "  but 
the  inward  change  is  not  always  in  the 
same  ratio.  Despite  one's  self,  one  re- 
members— ah!  one  often  remembers  a 
great  deal  that  one  would  like  to  for- 
get !  " 

Her  eyes  drooped,  her  breast  heaved 
in  a  sigh,  and  Marchmont — Marchmont, 
who  had  often  boasted  that  the  woman 
was  never  born  who  could  befool  him — 
felt  himself  quiver  in  every  fibre. 

How  if,  after  all,  the  prize  should  be 
within  his  grasp !  How  if,  after  all,  old 
sentiment  still  had  power  to  sway  this 
woman  as  it  had,  to  his  knowledge,  swayed 
others  of  her  sex ! 

If  he  had  been  wise,  he  would  have 
recollected  that  she,  who  had  once  been  a 
simple  village-girl,  was  now  one  of  the 
most  consummate  coquettes  in  Europe. 
But  what  is  there  that  can  befool  a  man 
like  his  own  vanity?  Deep-rooted  in  his 
consciousness  was  the  belief,  "She  can- 
not have  forgotten  me!"  And  on  this 
basis  Mrs.  Trafford,  with  a  profound 
knowledge  of  masculine  nature,  proceeded 
to  act. 


"I,  too,  have  often  wished  that  I 
could  forget — many  things,"  said  he,  sink- 
ing his  voice  to  its  most  effective  key. 
"But  who  can  read  the  future?  "Who 
knows  what  recompenses  for  the  past  it 
may  hold  ?  Even  to  sit  here  by  you,  is 
more  than  for  many  years  I  have  dared  to 
hope  for,  knowing  how  you  might  regard 
me—" 

"Nay,"  said  she,  with  her  sweetest 
smile,  "  when  we  spoke  of  the  past,  I  did 
not  mean  to  revive  any  disagreeable  mem- 
ories. Did  I  not  tell  you,  the  other  day, 
that  I  am  able  now  to  comprehend  all 
that  I  may  have  misunderstood — shall  I 
say  —  then?  The  world  hardens  one, 
perhaps,  but  it  also  teaches  one  wisdom. 
We  can  smile  together  over  the  absurdi- 
ties of  our  youth,  and  be  very  good  friends 
— can  we  not?" 

Lustrous,  beguiling  eyes,  and  a  half- 
mocking  yet  wholly  charming  smile — few 
men  could  have  resisted  these  things  com- 
bined with  a  half-million  in  the  back- 
ground ;  and  Marchmont  was  not  one  of 
the  few. 

He  began  to  feel  that  intoxication  of 
the  senses  which  leads,  by  no  long  path, 
to  absolute  enthrallment. 

"Do  not  ask  me  to  perjure  myself," 
he  murmured,  in  reply.  "  What  you  call 
'the  absurdities  of  our  youth'  are  the 
memories  most  dear  to  me,  of  all  that 
I  possess — memories  that  have  been — " 

She  interrupted  him. 

"That  will  not  do,"  she  said.  "One 
thing  which  all  my  friends  have  to  under- 
stand is,  that  I  am  no  sentimentalist ;  and 
when  people  become  sentimental,  I  am 
sometimes  rude  enough  to  laugh.  It  is 
better  to  laugh  than  to  sigh,  you  know ; 
and,  perhaps,  if  one  did  not  laugh,  one 
might  be  tempted  into  sighing." 

It  is 'not  worth  while  to  record  the 
conversation  that  followed.  An  adept  in 
the  art  of  ensnaring — of  implying  rather 
than  saying  things  agreeable  to  the  vanity 
of  her  listener — was  Mrs.  Trafford,  and  a 
wiser  man  than  Marchmont  might  have 
yielded  to  her  spell. 


"FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  THE  PAST.' 


167 


He  grounded  arms  at  once.  Nor  need 
it  be  supposed  that  his  only  motive  for 
doing  so  was  self-interest.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  that  this  was  his  original  and 
strongest  motive;  but  the  woman  who 
looked  at  him  with  her  brilliant  eyes,  and 
talked  to  him  with  her  low  voice,  was  a 
mistress  of  fascination,  and  before  he  left 
her  side  he  was  more  in  love  with  her 
than  he  had  ever  been  with  pretty  Amy 
Reynolds — or,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
with  any  one  else.  She  was  eminently 
fitted  to  inspire  an  absorbing  passion,  and 
it  must  be  recorded  of  her  that  she  delib- 
erately set  herself  to  inspire  it  here. 

With  long  practice  and  surpassing  at- 
tractions, she  was  not  likely  now  to  fail. 
Indeed,  she  succeeded  to  such  good  pur- 
pose, that  the  thought  of  Nelly  Paget 
soon  vanished  from  Marchmont's  mind 
as  completely  as  if  it  had  never  existed 
there. 

Danesford,  meanwhile,  saw  this  oft- 
repeated  game  with  a  sore,  sick  heart. 
"What  can  you  hope  from  such  a  co- 
quette?" he  often  asked  himself,  but  the 
answer  of  wisdom  was  given  unheeded. 
Let  her  do  what  she  would,  he  was  her 
thrall  until  she  bade  him  go ;  nevertheless, 
it  was  with  a  sense  of  bitter  pain  that  he 
watched  such  a  scene  as  this. 

Her  quick  eye  no  doubt  read  the  ex- 
pression on  his  face ;  for  presently,  when 
she  had  accomplished  all  that  she  desired, 
she  dismissed  Marchmont  in  the  manner 
which  women  of  her  class  possess  to  per- 
fection. 

"  Go  and  take  Mariette  to  the  piano," 
she  said.  "  I  want  you  to  hear  her  sing ;  I 
*vant  to  know  if  you  think  her  voice  as 
fine  as  mine  was." 

Then  she  crossed  over  to  Mrs.  Paget, 
whom  Danesford  was  doing  his  best  to 
entertain,  thanked  him  by  a  glance,  and 
in  five  minutes,  without  seeming  directly 
to  address  her  attention  to  him,  had 
soothed  and  charmed  him.  Presently, 
under  cover  of  the  music,  she  managed  to 
say:  "Beware  of  rash  judgment,  mon 
ami.  Nay,  don't  disclaim!  I  saw  that 


you  were  judging  me  a  little  while  ago. 
I  had  a  reason — I  think  a  good  one — for 
my  conduct;  and  some  day,  perhaps,  I 
may  tell  you  what  it  is.  Meanwhile,  re- 
member that,  if  women  are  enigmas,  at 
the  best  of  times,  they  are  doubly  so  when 
you  do  not  know  their  motives." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"FOB  THE   SAKE  OF    THE  PAST." 

BEFORE  Mrs.  Trafford  parted  with 
Miss  Paget  on  the  evening  of  the  dinner- 
party, it  was  settled  that  the  latter  should 
accompany  her  to  Hugh  Dinsmore's  studio 
on  the  nest  day. 

"  I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  ask  the 
rest  of  your  party,"  Mrs.  Trafford  said. 
"I  think  we  should  scarcely  find  Mr. 
Dinsmore  prepared  for  so  large  a  com- 
pany. At  another  time  I  have  no  doubt 
he  would  be  glad  to  see  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Paget  if  they  care  for  pictures." 

"Honestly,  I  don't  think  they  care 
very  much,"  Nelly  answered  with  a 
laugh.  "  Walter  has  more  than  once 
said  that  they  bore  him,  and  Mary  has 
been  almost  as  frank.  Don't  trouble 
about  them,  Mrs.  Trafford.  Considering 
the  nature  of  the  entertainment,  they 
will  be  more  than  willing  for  me  to  go 
alone." 

"  I  will  call  for  you  at  five  o'clock  to- 
morrow, then,  if  yon  have  no  other  en- 
gagement." 

"No  other  at  all." 

At  five  o'clock  the  next  afternoon, 
therefore,  Mrs.  Trafford's  carriage  drew 
up  at  the  Langham  Hotel,  and,  after  a 
few  minutes'  delay,  Nelly  came  down, 
attended  by  Marchmont. 

"I  must  tell  you,  Mrs.  Trafford,"  she 
cried,  gayly,  "  that  Mr.  Marchmont  is  de- 
voured by  curiosity  to  know  where  we 
are  going;  and  I  think  he  would  like 
exceedingly  to  be  invited  to  accompany 
us." 


168 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


"  I  am  sorry  that  it  is  quite  out  of  the 
question  to  invite  him,"  said  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford,  extending  a  delicate  pearl-gloved 
hand  to  Marchmont.  "Our  destination 
is  for  the  present  a  mystery ;  and  when 
it  ceases  to  be  a  mystery — when  you  re- 
turn, and  tell  him  where  you  have  been 
— I  do  not  think  he  will  regret  having 
been  excluded  from  the  expedition." 

"  Allow  me  to  say  that  you  are  mis- 
taken," replied  Marchmont.  "Compan- 
ionship alone  makes  happiness ;  and  with 
such  companionship  as  the  present,  what 
place  could  fail  to  be  delightful  ?  I  should 
enjoy — I  speak  advisedly — I  should  en- 
joy even  a  milliner's  shop." 

""We  will  not  put  your  gallantry  to 
such  a  crucial  test !  "  said  Mrs.  Trafford, 
and  her  laughing  manner  did  not  alto- 
gether veil  the  decision  of  her  tone.  "  "We 
shall  see  you  at  the  opera  to-night,  I  sup- 
pose ?  Patti  sings  in  the  '  Barbiere.' " 

.  She  bowed  smilingly,  and  the  carriage 
drove  off,  leaving  him  standing  on  the 
pavement  looking  after  it — an  expression 
of  doubt  and  irresolution  on  his  face. 

"  If  I  could  trust  her !  "  he  muttered, 
under  his  breath.  "But  one  must  run 
some  risk  in  all  ventures,  and  this — is 
worth  a  risk." 

Meanwhile,  Nelly  turned  to  Mrs. 
Trafford,  and,  in  her  impulsive  fashion, 
said : 

"  I  am  glad  you  did  not  ask  him  to  go 
with  us.  I  think  he  knew  Mr.  Dinsmore 
once,  and — and  I  have  heard  him  speak 
of  him — Mr.  Dinsmore,  I  mean — in  a 
manner  that  would  not  make  it  pleasant 
for  them  to  meet — at  least,  not  in  this 
way." 

"  I  had  no  intention  whatever  of  ask- 
ing him,"  answered  Mrs.  Trafford.  "  I 
have  too  much  regard  for  Mr.  Dinsmore 
to  do  so ;  but  as  far  as  Mr.  Marchmont 
himself  is  concerned,"  she  added,  with  a 
sudden  glow  in  her  eyes,  "  it  would  be 
wise  for  him  to  let  Hugh  Dinsmore's 
name  rest  in  silence.  The  only  reason  I 
can  imagine  for  his  failing  to  do  so  is, 
that  we  are  never  so  implacable  toward 


any  person  as  toward  one  whom  we  have 
injured — or  attempted  to  injure." 

She  spoke  with  emphasis,  and  her 
words  let  in  a  flood  of  light  on  Nelly's 
intelligence.  The  latter  remembered  all 
that  Marchmont  had  said  of  the  boy  who 
had  once  been  in  love  with  Mrs.  Trafford, 
and  she  saw — or  fancied  she  saw — proof 
of  the  truth  of  this  in  Mrs.  Trafford's 
manner.  The  fragmentary  knowledge  of 
that  lady's  past  life,  which  had  been  re- 
vealed to  her,  inflamed  her  curiosity  to 
learn  more. 

"I  should  like  to  know  exactly  all 
that  happened  between  these  three  people 
when  they  knew  each  other  before,"  she 
thought.  "  There  were  romantic — per- 
haps dramatic — chapters  in  the  story,  I 
am  sure." 

"When  you  see  Hugh  Dinsmore,  you 
will  feel  that  nothing  to  his  discredit  could 
be  true,"  said  Mariette,  quickly.  And  as 
Nelly  noted  the  color  deepen  on  her  rose- 
leaf  cheek,  she  began  to  think  that  here 
might  be  a  new  heroine  for  a  new  version 
of  the  old  romance. 

They  were  not  long  in  reaching  Dins- 
more's studio,  which,  since  he  had  been 
able  to  please  himself  in  the  matter  of 
locality,  was  in  a  house  on  a  terrace  over- 
looking the  Thames.  From  his  windows 
he  could  see  the  river  as  it  flowed  by, 
laden  with  steamers,  boats,  and  historic 
memories ;  and  this  fact  made  amends  to 
him  for  any  disadvantage  in  the  situation. 

Viewed  outwardly,  however,  there 
was  none,  as  the  ladies  agreed  when  the 
carriage  drew  up  before  the  door. 

"It  reminds  me  of  Florence,  Amy, 
and  our  rooms  overlooking  the  Arno ! " 
cried  Mariette.  "  I  think  Hugh  ought  to 
be  glad  to  live  in  such  a  pleasant  place ! 
— And  here  he  is !  " 

Yes,  Hugh  was  ready  to  meet  them — 
Hugh,  and  some  one  else,  whom  Nelly 
brightened  and  blushed  to  see.' 

"Ah,  Mr.  Keade— well  met!"  said 
Mrs.  Trafford.  "  I  see  you  could  not  suf- 
fer your  friend  to  face  such  a  feminine 
invasion  alone. — Hugh,  I  have  taken  the 


"FOR   THE   SAKE   OF   THE   PAST." 


1G9 


who  is  anxious  to  see  your  paintings. 
Allow  me  to  present  you  to  Miss  Pa- 
get." 

"  I  am  happy  to  make  Miss  Paget's 
acquaintance,"  said  Hugh;  and  as  Nelly 
glanced  at  his  frank,  genial  face,  she  felt 
that  Marietta  was  right — that  no  one 
could  look  at  him  and  believe  that  any- 
thing to  his  discredit  was  true. 

The  studio  into  which  the  two  young 
men  ushered  them  was  a  very  pleasant 
apartment,  with  great,  wide  windows, 
and  heavy  curtains  to  alter  the  light.  It 
had  none  of  those  wonderful  attempts  at 
decoration  which  writers  are  more  given 
to  describing  than  artists  are,  as  a  general 
rule,  to  employing;  yet  it  was  a  very 
pleasant  and  altogether  habitable  place. 
The  windows  were  set  wide  open;  there 
were  some  flowers  on  the  balcony,  half 
a  dozen  delightfully  easy  chairs  in  the 
room,  and  a  broad  chintz  couch  with 
cushions  of  the  same.  Besides  these, 
there  was,  of  course,  the  artist's  "  prop- 
erties " — easels,  canvases,  brushes,  paints, 
lay-figures,  and  a  few  odd  bits  of  bric-d- 
~bmc  here  and  there. 

Mrs.  Trafford  took  in  every  detail  of 
the  scene  without  saying  a  word,  while 
Nelly  and  Mariette  were  chattering  gayly 
and  exclaiming  over  it.  Around  her 
were  all  the  means  and  appliances  of 
labor;  and  if  there  was  also  comfort,  it 
was  the  comfort  which  this  labor  had 
purchased.  Involuntarily  she  compared 
it  with  the  luxury  which  surrounded  her- 
self, and  which  had  come  to  her  as  a  free 
gift,  unwon  by  any  exertion  of  her  own. 

"  This  is  best — I  am  sure  this  is  best !  " 
she  thought;  and  then  she  looked  at 
Hugh,  who  was  speaking  to  Mariette 
with  his  peculiarly  winning  smile. 

Was  it  the  charm  of  thoroughness,  she 
wondered,  that  made  him  so  attractive? 
Was  it  because  he  had  never  for  an  hour 
mingled  in  the  artificial  world  in  which 
her  life  had  for  years  been  passed,  that  his 
mere  presence  seemed  to  bring  a  sense 
of  ref  reshmeftt  over  her  spirit  ? — a  spirit 


more  jaded  and  weary  than  she  realized 
in  the  whirl  and  tumult  of  her  life.  Why 
else  was  she  dimly  conscious  of  feeling 
as  one  might  who,  from  a  rose-lined 
boudoir  and-atraosphere  redolent  of  mille- 
fleurs,  should  step  into  fresh  green  fields 
and  catch  a  breath  of  wild,  sweet  forest 
odors? 

Life  had  taught  this  woman  a  great 
deal,  and  after  many  days  she  was  to  do 
justice  to  the  nature  and  the  heart  she 
had  once  so  lightly  esteemed,  so  iguo- 
rantly  cast  away. 

Hugh,  who  had  as  little  idea  as  pos- 
sible of  what  was  passing  in  her  mind, 
presently  left  Eeade  to  act  as  cicerone  to 
the  two  girls,  and  came  up  to  her. 

"  I  have  a  picture  of  Felix,  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford, which  I  should  like  you  to  look  at," 
he  said,  "  and  if  you  think  it  a  good  like- 
ness, I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  copy  it 
for  you — although  you  will  not  accept 
'  Wild-Flowers.' " 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  something 
almost  pathetic  in  her  eyes — an  expres- 
sion altogether  new  to  them,  yet  which, 
he  had  no  doubt,  was  one  of  many  arti- 
fices. 

"You  know  why  I  will  not  accept 
'Wild-Flowers,'"  she  said.  "I  am  so 
well — so  very  well — able  to  buy  it,  and 
you—" 

"  I  am  quite  able  to  give  it  away,"  he 
interposed,  smiling;  "otherwise  I  should 
not  have  been  so  extravagant  as  to  offer 
it.  I  am  happily  past  the  period  of  strug- 
gle, Mrs.  Trafford  ;  and  I  am  glad  to  say 
that  I  have  a  sufficient  balance  at  my 
banker's  to  make  me  a  respectable  mem- 
ber of  society." 

"No  one  in  the  world  could  rejoice 
more  over  your  success  than  I  do,  Hugh," 
she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  But,  for  the 
sake  of  the  past,  you  might  allow  me  to 
contribute  my  insignificant  quota  to  it." 

"For  the  sake  of  the  past,  that  is  ex- 
actly what  I  cannot  do ! "  he  answered, 
with  a  sudden  hardening  sternness  in  his 
voice — a  sternness  so  unexpected,  that 
she  absolutely  shrank ;  "  and  we  will  not 


170 


AFTER   MAXY  DAYS. 


talk  of  it,  if  you  please.  May  I  show  you 
the  portrait  now  ?  " 

It  was  hanging  at  one  end  of  the 
room,  and,  having  led  her  there,  he  drew 
back  a  curtain,  and  threw  a  broad  flood 
of  light  over  it. 

As  he  did  so,  she  started  with  an  ex- 
clamation, for  it  was  Felix  himself  who 
looked  at  her  from  the  canvas — Felix, 
with  delicate,  shadowy  face,  and  large, 
luminous  eyes,  sitting  in  his  old,  well- 
remembered  attitude  at  the  piano,  with 
flexile,  slender  hands  resting  on  the  ivory 
keyboard. 

"Oh,  this  is  wonderful — wonderful! " 
she  cried,  with  a  choking  in  her  voice 
suggestive  of  tears.  "  How  could  you 
reproduce  his  face  so  exactly,  when  even 
I  had  almost  forgotten  it  ?  How  it  brings 
back  everything,  more — a  hundred  times 
more — than  '"Wild-Flowers'  did!  I  can 
see  him  so  plainly — my  poor  boy! — and, 
if  I  needed  anything  to  harden  me  in  the 
task  which  lies  before  me,  it  would  be 
this." 

She  was  not  aware  that  she  had  ut- 
tered the  last  words  aloud,  until  she 
caught  the  expression  of  Hugh's  face — an 
expression  half  interrogative,  half  keen, 
wholly  surprise.  She  started  then,  and 
colored,  but  did  not  lose  her  self-posses- 
sion in  the  least. 

"  I  see  you  wonder  what  I  meant  by 
that,"  she  said.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  No, 
I  do  not  think  you  are  sufficiently  inter- 
ested in  me,  or  in  anything  that  concerns 
me,  to  care  to  hear." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  he  replied,  read- 
ing accurately,  as  he  thought,  the  strain 
of  feeling  in  her  tone.  "I  shall  always 
be  interested  in  you,  Mrs.  Trafford,  if 
only  on  account  of  the  old  days  that  are 
dead." 

"How  strange  it  seems  to  remember 
them !  "  she  said,  shading  her  eyes  with 
her  face  as  she  gazed  at  the  picture. 
"  How  strange  that  you  and  I,  so  differ- 
ently placed  from  what  we  were  then, 
should  meet  once  more — like  this  1 " 

"I  have  become  inured  to  strange 


things,"  said  he,  rather  dryly.  "Life  is 
very  full  of  them.  Do  you  think  Mari- 
ette  will  recognize  this  face?  I  will 
bring  her  to  see  it." 

As  he  moved  to  where  Mariette  was 
standing,  Mrs.  Trafford  looked  after  him 
with  a  strangely  varying  expression  in 
her  eyes.  Never  before  in  her  career  of 
conquest  had  she,  with  all  her  fascinations, 
been,  so  deliberately  set  at  naught  as  by 
this  man.  How  coolly  he  put  aside  the 
reminiscences  which,  with  any  one  else, 
would  have  proved  irresistible !  Nothing 
seemed  to  touch  him.  With  the  instinct 
of  subjecting  all  who  approached  her  to 
her  influence — an  instinct  stronger  than 
any  other  with  women  of  her  kind — she 
had  tried  the  most  effective  weapons  of 
her  armory  upon  him,  and  the  result  was 
absolute  failure.  For  the  first  time  she 
found  a  man  strong  enough  to  withstand 
her  fascination,  strong  enough  to  look  at 
her  with  calm  eyes,  strong  enough,  she 
felt  sure,  to  despise  all  the  objects  of  her 
life. 

This  novelty  was  in  itself  sufficient  to 
make  her  think  more  of  Hugh  Dinsmore 
than  she  thought  of  the  many  men  whose 
homage  was  so  easily  secured,  whose  de- 
votion was  so  easily  won. 

"  I  am  glad  that  he  has  forgotten  his 
old  fancy  for  me,"  she  thought — for  we 
deceive  ourselves  quite  as  often  as  we  de- 
ceive others — "  but  he  might  forgive  the 
pain  I  caused  him  long  ago !  It  is  unkind 
of  him  to  remember  it  yet ;  for  I  should 
like  to  feel  that  I  had  one  honest,  genuine 
friend  in  the  world;  and  such  a  friend 
he  could  be." 

"When  Mariette  was  brought  to  the 
picture,  she  recognized  it  et  once,  and, 
like  her  sister,  -wondered  at  the  faithful- 
ness of  Hugh's  memory. 

"My  recollection  of  Felix  had  grown 
so  dim,"  she  said,  "and  this  makes  it 
vivid  again.  O  Hugh,  will  you  not  give 
it  to  us — to  Amy  and  me  ?  " 

"I  have  already  told  Mrs.  Trafford 
that,  with  her  permission,  I  will  make  a 
copy  for  her,"  he  said.  "  2iow  come  and 


"FOR   THE   SAKE   OF   THE   PAST." 


171 


see  the  picture  in  which  I  want  to  put 
you:'1 

He  went  up  to  an  easel  and  drew 
aside  a  cloth  which  covered  the  canvas 
resting  thereon.  A  large  and  elaborate 
painting  was  revealed — a  painting  which, 
from  its  subject  as  well  as  from  the  mas- 
terly manner  in  which  the  subject  was 
treated,  struck  the  attention  and  held  it 
fascinated. 

Surely  a  strange  subject  viewed  with- 
out a  clew  to  its  meaning.  The  high 
battlement  of  a  tower,  on  the  verge  of 
which  was  a  plunging,  terror-stricken 
horse,  rearing  back  from  the  frightful 
depth  below  ;  a  mail-clad  rider,  with  his 
visor  raised,  showing  a  face  death-pale ; 
a  half -kneeling  woman  clinging  to  him  in 
an  agony  of  entreaty ;  and  in  the  back- 
ground a  group  of  awe-stricken  retainers. 
The  picture  was  entirely  finished  save  the 
woman's  face ;  this  had  been  painted  out, 
but  there  was  not  a  line  of  the  figure 
which  did  not  express  passionate,  despair- 
ing entreaty,  as  she  clung  to  his  feet. 

The  gazers  were  silent  for  fully  a 
minute.  Then  it  was  Mariette  who  said : 

"I  have  never  seen  anything  more 
marvelous !  one  almost  holds  one's  breath 
while  looking  on  it !  But  what  does  it 
mean,  Hugh?" 

Dinsmore  glanced  at  Mrs.  Trafford, 
who  smiled  slightly,  as  she  said : 

"  I  think  I  know  what  it  means.  It 
is  a  scene  from  the  '  Rhyme  of  the  Duch- 
ess May ' — is  it  not  ?  Unless  my  memory 
fails,  I  can  give  you  the  very  lines  you 
have  chosen  to  make  your  text — "  And 
before  he  could  speak,  she  repeated,  in 
her  sweet,  magnetic  voice : 

"  Thrice  he  wrung  her  hands  in  twain, 
But  they  closed  and  clung  again ; 
Wild  she  clung,  as  one  withstood 
Clasps  a  Christ  upon  the  rood 
In  a  spasm  of  deathly  pain. 

"  She  clung  wild,  and  she  clung  mute, 

With  her  shuddering  lips  half-shut ; 

Her  head  had  fallen,  as  half  in  swound ; 

Hair  and  knee  swept  on  the  ground, 

She  clung  wild  to  stirrup  and  feet. 


"  Back  he  reined  his  steed — back-thrown 
On  the  slippery  coping  stone ; 
Back  the  iron  hoofs  did  grind 
On  the  battlement  behind, 
Whence  a  hundred  feet  went  down. 

"  And  his  heel  did  press  and  goad 
On  the  quivering  flank  bestrode. 
'  Friends  and  brothers,  save  my  wife ! 
Pardon,  sweet,  in  change  for  life, 
But  I  ride  alone  to  God.'  " 

"  Ah !  yes,"  said  Mariette,  "  I  see  it 
all  now.  I  am  one  of  the  class  of  people 
who  always  see  things — when  they  are 
pointed  out  to  them.  But,  O  Hugh,  you 
cannot  mean  that  you  want  to  paint  me 
as  the  Duchess  May  ? " 

"  Why  not  ? "  asked  Hugh.  "  I  think 
you  would  make  a  very  lovely  duchess." 

"  I  think  so  myself  "  (with  a  laughing 
glance  at  a  mirror),  "to  ride,  as  she  said, 
'  through  a  castle-gate,'  but  not  to  '  ride 
on  castle-wall.'  I  should  certainly  have 
let  Sir  Guy — wasn't  his  name  Sir  Guy  ? — 
ride  alone  there." 

"If  you  found  Sir  Guy,  you  might 
feel  differently,"  said  he,  looking  with 
kindly  admiration  at  the  fair,  winsome 
face. 

But  Mariette  shook  her  head.  "No, 
no,"  she  said;  "I  have  no  such  heroic 
capabilities.  But  here  is  Amy;  Amy 
could  do  such  a  thing  as  that,  and  never 
flinch.  Paint  her  for  your  Duchess  May." 

There  was  an  instant's  pause;  then 
Mrs.  Trafford  said,  quietly : 

"Before  you  propose  a  substitute, 
Mariette,  you  should  be  sure  that  the  ex- 
change would  be  agreeable  on  all  sides. — 
Don't  be  afraid  to  say  that  I  am  not  your 
ideal  of  the  Duchess  May,  Mr.  Dinsmore." 
She  looked  at  him  with  steady  eyes. 
"  You  think  that  I  would  have  been 
incapable  of  giving  life  for  love,  and 
probably  you  are  right.  Such  a  sacrifice 
certainly  is  out  of  my  line. — Ah,  Miss  Pa- 
get"  (as  Kelly  and  Eeade  approached), 
"  you  are  just  in  time  to  admire  this  beau- 
tiful picture  which  Mr.  Dinsmore  is  show- 
ing us." 

The  picture  was   admired  for   some 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


time  longer,  then  other  pictures  were  ex- 
hibited, and  finally  tea  was  taken,  Eng- 
lish fashion,  at  a  table  drawn  up  before 
one  of  the  windows  commanding  a  view 
of  the  river  and  of  the  green  bank  oppo- 
site. 

There  was  no  lack  of  merriment  at 
this  pleasant  feast — merriment  in  which 
Mrs.  Trafford  bore  her  part  as  thorough- 
ly, if  not  quite  as  gayl'y,  as  the  two  girls. 
Hugh  played  the  part  of  host  to  perfec- 
tion, and  Reade  was  charmingly  agree- 
able. Altogether  time  passed  so  swiftly, 
that  when  Mrs.  Trafford  presently  glanced 
at  her  watch,  she  exclaimed : 

"  Why,  it  is  nearly  seven  o'clock ! 
And  I  have  to  drive  home,  make  a  toilet, 
and  dine,  then  go  to  the  opera  and  two 
balls  afterward.  Hugh,  your  hospitality 
lias  been  delightful !  And  now  you  must 
say  when  you  will  allow  me  to  return  it 
— in  other  words,  when  can  you  dine 
with  me  ? " 

"When  we  meet  in  some  Arcadian 
spot  where  dress-coats  are  unknown ! " 
answered  Hugh,  smiling.  "  You  are  very 
kind,  Mrs.  Trafford,  but  I  never  dine 
out." 

"  Then  it  is  time  for  you  to  begin  to 
do  so,"  said  Mariette,  with  her  pretty  air 
of  authority.  "  Not  dine  out !  I  never 
heard  of  anything  so  absurd !  I  am  afraid 
you  are  eccentric,  Mr.  Dinsmore." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am,  Miss  Reynolds." 

"  But  your  eccentricity  does  not  reach 
the  point  of  refusing  to  do  your  oldest 
friends  a  favor  ?  " 

"  That  depends  entirely  upon  what  the 
favor  is." 

"  Bah !  "  she  interrupted,  gayly.  "  You 
are  going  to  quibble — and  I  hate  quib- 
bling. In  plain  words,  do  you  refuse  to 
dine  with  Mrs.  Trafford,  and  meet  the 
present  agreeable  company — with  an  ad- 
dition or  two,  perhaps — eh,  Amy? " 

Hugh's  face  changed,  for  he  thought 
at  once  of  Marchmont — Marchmont,  who 
had  dined  with  Mrs.  Trafford  only  the 
evening  before. 

"It  is  impossible!"  he  said.     "In 


anything  else  you  might  command  me, 
but  I  regret  to  say  that  I  cannot  accept 
Mrs.  Trafford's  invitation." 

Mrs.  Trafford  had  been  adjusting  her 
veil,  and  she  now  turned  with  heightened 
color. 

"Don't  waste  your  persuasive  elo- 
quence, my  dear,"  she  said.  "  Mr.  Dins- 
more,  I  suppose,  thinks  that  dinner  is  too 
conventional  a  ceremony  for  such  an  un- 
conventional person  as  himself.  We  will 
hope  to  see  him  at  some  other  time.  And 
now  I  really  must  hurry  Miss  Paget  and 
yourself  away." 

"  Remember  that  I  think  it  very  un- 
kind of  you  to  act  so  1  "  said  Mariette, 
holding  out  her  hand  to  Dinsmore.  "  But 
you  will  come  to  see  us  soon — will  you 
not  ?  We  have  had  a  charming  visit,  and 
you  are  welcome  to  use  my  face  for  the 
Duchess  May,  if  you  like ;  but,  honestly,  I 
don't  think  it  would  suit  the  character. 
Amy,  now —  What  is  it,  Amy  ?  Yes,  I 
am  ready  this  instant." 

"  We  certainly  shall  be  very  late !  " 
said  Mrs.  Trafford.  Then  she  shook 
hands  with  Hugh,  last  words  were  ut- 
tered, the  last  compliments  paid,  and 
they  descended  to  the  waiting  carriage 
and  were  driven  away. 


CHAPTER  X. 

AFTER   ALL,    OLD   THINGS   ARE   BEST. 

WHATEVER  pang  of  wounded  feeling 
Mrs.  Trafford  felt  at  the  obstinate  cold- 
ness of  her  old  companion,  no  trace  of  it 
was  left  on  her  face,  or  in  her  manner, 
when  she  made  her  appearance,  rather 
late,  at  the  opera  that  night. 

Marchmont,  from  his  seat  in  the  stalls 
where  he  had  been  watching  anxiously 
for  her,  thought  that  her  beauty  paled  the 
beauty  of  all  other  women  as  she  entered 
her  box,  magnificently  dressed,  and  spar- 
kling with  diamonds. 

At  sight  of  her  his  heart  rose  with  a 


AFTER  ALL,  OLD   THINGS   ARE  BEST. 


173 


bound.  If  he  had  ever  doubted  that  the 
prize  was  worth  all  risks,  all  efforts  to 
gain  it,  he  now  doubted  no  longer. 

Sometimes  we  are  prophets  without 
being  aware  of  the  fact;  and  such  a 
prophet  he  had  been  when,  on  the  first 
night  that  he  saw  her,  he  said  to  him- 
self: 

"  She  is  mistress  of  a  fascination  which 
would  soon  make  a  man  forget  everything 
but  herself.  I  should  like  to  come  in  con- 
tact with  such  a  woman.  I  have  never 
yet  met  one  capable  of  inspiring  that  spe- 
cies of  worship  which  borders  on  infatu- 
ation, and  it  would  be  something  to  feel, 
if  only  for  the  sake  of  a  new  sensation." 

Well,  the  new  sensation  had  come. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  that 
for  the  woman  herself,  apart  from  her 
great  advantages,  he  could  do  and  dare, 
all  things.  One  syllable  of  love  from 
those  lips,  one  look  of  tenderness  from 
those  eyes — these  were  the  rewards  which 
already  began  to  take  the  chief  place  in 
his  imagination. 

He  was  the  first  person  to  enter  her 
box ;  and,  when  Mr.  Grantham  appeared 
there,  he  found  the  American  stranger  al- 
ready installed  in  the  place  of  honor. 

Mrs.  Trafford's  manner  was  thorough- 
ly courteous ;  nevertheless,  the  secretary 
of  legation  soon  felt  that  his  day  of  favor 
was  over.  No  woman  could  make  this 
more  unmistakably  evident;  no  wom- 
an could  with  more  subtile  grace  turn 
her  shoulder — figuratively — upon  a  cap- 
tive of  whom  she  had  wearied.  Impet- 
uous men  like  Colonel  Danesford — men 
who  had  really  lost  their  hearts  to  the 
fair  enchantress — rushed  upon  their  fate 
despite  the  warning;  but  Mr.  Grantham 
did  not  belong  to  this  class.  He  saw,  rec- 
ognized, bowed  to  the  inevitable  at  once, 
and  had  no  idea  of  incurring  the  mor- 
tification of  a  definite  and  decided  re- 
jection. 

Nevertheless,  his  vanity  was  suffi- 
ciently wounded  for  him  to  feel  inclined 
to  bestow  a  thrust  or  two  upon  the  ca- 
pricious beauty  who  had  ventured  to  trifle 


even  with  Ms  exalted  homage ;  and 
chance  put  it  in  his  power  to  do  this  bet- 
ter than  he  knew. 

Mrs.  Trafford,  after  carelessly  exam- 
ining for  a  minute,  through  her  glass,  a 
new  arrival  in  the  box  opposite,  said:  "Is 
not  that  the  pretty,  fair-haired  girl  who 
was  so  much  admired  at  Nice  last  win- 
ter? Miss  Balfour — was  not  that  her 
name  ? " 

"Yes,  Miss  Balfour— Nina  Balfour," 
returned  Mr.  Grantham.  "That  is  she, 
though  she  is  Miss  Balfour  no  longer." 

"  Ah !  did  mamma  succeed  in  captur- 
ing the  fat,  forty,  and  not  fair  baronet 
round  whom  her  nets  were  so  persevering- 
ly  spread  ? " 

"  She  succeeded  admirably !  He  was 
landed  in  the  most  scientific  manner,  his 
house  was  set  in  order,  jewels  -were 
bought,  the  bride's  trousseau  all  ready, 
when  lo !  Miss  Balfour  walked  quietly  out 
of  the  house  one  morning,  and  was  mar- 
ried to  a  captain  in  a  marching  regi- 
ment !  " 

Mrs.  Trafford  lifted  her  eyebrows. 
"What  did  it  mean?  Was  the  girl 
mad?" 

"  If  you  hold  love  and  madness  to  bo 
synonymous  terms — yes.  It  seems  there 
was  an  old  boy-and-girl  love-affair  be- 
tween them,  half  forgotten  by  both,  until 
they  met  in  London  after  her  engage- 
ment; then  the  passion  blazed  up  again 
with  greater  force  than  ever,  and  ended 
as  I  have  said.  The  French,  you  know, 
have  a  proverb, '  On  en  revient  toujours  d 
ses  premieres  amour s."1  I  have  never  had 
much  faith  in  its  truth,  but  several  affairs 
of  this  kind  lately  are  beginning  to  con- 
vert me.  May  I  ask  what  you  think? 
Are  your  sex  so  sentimental  at  heart  that 
a  first  lover  always  has  an  advantage  over 
later  ones  ? " 

His  manner,  as  he  asked  the  question, 
was  a  model  of  easy  nonchalance ;  but 
something  in  the  expression  of  his  eyes, 
as  they  met  Mrs.  Trafford's,  told  her 
that,  with  the  instinct  of  a  discomfited 
rival,  he  had  leaped  to  the  right  conclu- 


174 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


sion  with  regard  to  Marchmont's  former 
acquaintance  with  herself. 

She  was  also  conscious  that  March- 
mont  was  listening  eagerly  for  her  an- 
swer, and  these  things,  acting  on  her  like 
a  defiance,  steadied  her  in  her  self -posses- 
sion. 

"  You  ask  a  rather  difficult  question," 
she  answered,  indifferently.  <  "  General 
questions  of  that  kind  are  always  hard  to 
answer,  because  so  much  depends  upon 
the  particular  circumstances.  Sometimes 
first  love  is  a  passion,  sometimes  only  a 
fancy;  sometimes  life  proves  its  folly, 
sometimes  teaches  its  wisdom.  As  a 
rule,  however,  I  am  not  a  believer  in 
'early  romance.'  I  hold  it  nearly  akin 
to  absurdity,  or  worse." 

"What  is  worse  than  absurdity?" 
asked  the  man  of  the  world,  shrugging 
his  shoulders  lightly. 

Not  long  after  this  he  took  his  depart- 
ure ;  and  Mariette's  attention  being  en- 
grossed by  Captain  Gresham,  who  was 
bending  over  her  chair,  Marchmont  felt 
that  he  could  venture  to  speak  to  Mrs. 
Trafford  as  freely  as  if  they  were  alone. 

"Your  answer  to  Mr.  Grantham's  ques- 
tion was  very  non-committal,"  he  said, 
lowering  his  voice,  and  looking  at  her 
with  expressive  eyes;  "but  surely  you 
believe,  as  I  do,  that  first  love  is,  after 
all,  the  only  real  love." 

She  laughed  —  that  unembarrassed 
laugh  which  is  by  no  means  encouraging. 

"I  think  that  first  love,  as  a  general 
thing,  is  first  folly,'1'1  she  said ;  "  but  there 
are  exceptions  to  all  rules — and  it  is  often 
useful  as  a  peg  upon  which  to  hang  remi- 
niscent sentiment." 

The  edge  of  sarcasm  in  her  voice  as 
she  uttered  the  last  words  checked  the 
"reminiscent  sentiment"  of  which  she 
spoke,  more  effectually  than  anything 
else  she  could  have  done. 

Instinctively  Marchmont  felt  that  he 
had  over-estimated  the  power  which  the 
past  held  for  this  woman  and  that  the 
task  of  winning  her  heart  again  might  be 
more  difficult  than  he  had  reckoned  upon. 


Not  for  a  moment,  however,  did  the 
consideration  occur  to  him  that  it  might 
be  impossible.  It  was  not  only  vanity 
which  blinded  him  to  the  obstacles  in  his 
way,  but  that  sudden  infatuation  which 
such  women  as  Mrs.  Trafford  inspire  in 
the  wisest  of  men. 

As  he  sat  by  her  side,  looking  at  her, 
listening  to  her,  drinking  deeper  and 
deeper  from  the  cup  of  Circe  which  she 
held  to  his  lips,  he  heard  no  tone  of 
Patti's  sweet  voice,  he  saw  hardly  a  feat- 
ure of  the  brilliant,  crowded  opera-house. 
Everything  began  and  ended  for  him  in 
the  face  by  his  side. 

Of  this  fact  Mrs.  Trafford  was  not 
likely  to  be  in  any  doubt.  Too  often  had 
she  seen  the  signs  of  passion  to  fail  in 
reading  them  now ;  and  when  they  parted 
— when  he  had  handed  her  into  her  car- 
riage on  her  way  to  the  balls  where  other 
men  would  sun  themselves  in  her  beauty 
and  listen  to  her  beguiling  accents — her 
last  words  were: 

"At  three  to-morrow,  then.  Good- 
night." 

"  Considering  that  you  do  not  like 
our  old  friend,  Amy,"  said  Mariette,  as 
the  carriage  rolled  away,  "I  think  you 
are  very  gracious  to  him." 

"  Why  should  you  imagine  that  I  do 
not  like  him  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Trafford.  "  I 
have  never  said  so." 

The  other  laughed. 

"No,  you  have  never  said  so,  but  I 
know  very  well  when  you  like  or  dislike 
a  person;  and  you  dislike  Mr.  March- 
mont— of  that  I  am  quite  sure.  I  can't 
help  thinking  it  odd,  too,"  she  added. 
"  He  is  exceedingly  handsome — I  watched 
his  line  of  profile  to-night,  while  he  talked 
to  you — and  very  agreeable." 

Mrs.  Trafford  did  not  choose  to  dis- 
cuss the  grounds  of  her  dislike  to  this  at- 
tractive gentleman,  so  she  said :  "  I  think 
you  are  making  a  serious  conquest  of 
Captain  Gresham,  Mariette.  He  seems 
to  haunt  us  of  late." 

"He  is  not  disagreeable — for  an  Eng- 
lishman," said  Mariette,  in  whose  eyes 


AFTER  ALL,  OLD  THINGS  ARE  BEST. 


175 


the  sons  of  Albion  had  not  yet  found 
favor.  "He  bores  one  a  little,  but  one 
grows  used  to  that ;  and  if,  some  day,  he 
should  screw  his  courage  to  the  sticking- 
point  of  proposal,  it  would  be  pleasant  to 
be  called 'My  lady!'" 

"  I  hoped  you  would  not  think  of  such 
things,"  said  Mrs.  Trafford,  in  a  slightly 
troubled  voice.  "I  hoped  that  you,  at 
least,  might  marry  for  love,  and  love 
only." 

Mariette's  gay  laugh  floated  out  with 
a  silver  ring  of  mockery  in  it. 

"  What !  a  Saul  among  the  prophets ! 
You  sentimental,  Amy !  You  surely  have 
forgotten  what  you  said  to  me  when  I 
came  to  you  from  my  Eoman  convent: 
'Amuse  yourself  with  men  as  long  and 
as  much  as  you  like ;  but  never  believe  a 
word  they  say,  and,  above  all,  never  love 
them ! '  You  see  I  have  profited  by  your 
instruction  and  your  example." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence ;  then, 
in  a  grave  tone,  Mrs.  Trafford  said  : 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  gave  you  such  a 
text  as  that ;  it  was  a  very  poor  one  for 
a  girl  just  beginning  life.  I  understand 
some  things  better  than  I  did  then.  I 
begin  to  realize  that  it  is  not  wise  to 
revenge,  the  falsity  and  cruelty  of  one 
man  on  all  his  sex.  There  are  men  whom 
one  may  believe,  and  men  worth  loving. 
I  hoped  that  you,  who  have  been  shielded 
from  all  that  made  the  bitterness  of  my 
early  life,  would  find  one  of  them." 

"  Have  you  found  one,  that  your  phi- 
losophy should  change  so  much  ?  "  asked 
Mariette. 

But,  before  Mrs.  Trafford  could  an- 
swer that  searching  question,  the  carriage 
drew  up  before  the  door  of  the  house  to 
which  they  were  bound. 

To  say  that  Nelly  Paget  was  not 
piqued  by  the  open  desertion  of  the  man 
whose  devotion  to  her  had  been  that  of 
a  lover,  and  who  had  hovered  so  closely 
on  the  verge  of  a  declaration  that  he 
might  have  felt  himself  as  much  bound 
in  honor  as  if  he  had  made  it,  would  be 


to  say  that  she  was  no  woman.  For- 
tunately for  herself,  she  was  not  in  love 
with  him ;  but  misplaced  fancy  can  some- 
times suffer  very  sensible  pain,  and  Nelly 
might  have  known  some  acute  pangs  but 
for  the  timely  advent  of  Mr.  Reade. 
There  is  no  balm  to  a  woman  for  the  loss 
of  one  admirer  like  the  attentions  of  an- 
other. "  Every  one  does  not  fail  to  value 
me,"  she  thinks ;  and  what  seemed  com- 
mon enough  before  rises  immensely  in 
her  estimation. 

So  it  was  in  the  present  instance. 
Though  she  had  jested  to  Marchmont  of 
his  "early  love,"  Nelly  certainly  had  not 
expected  that  the  same  early  love  would 
so  promptly,  so  easily  reclaim  him.  She 
had  not  at  first  recognized  how  entirely 
his  allegiance  was  transferred,  but  when 
the  full  realization  came  to  her,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  of  her  mortification. 
In  such,  a  case  a  woman  feels  that  her 
power  of  charming  must  be  weak  indeed, 
when  a  man's  heart  can  wander  from  her 
so  lightly ;  and  toward  Marchmont  Nelly's 
predominant  feeling  was  one  of  keen  re- 
sentment. "  A  man  has  been  flirting — 
has  been  worse  than  flirting — when  he 
says  everything  except  the  words,  and 
then  coolly  walks  off!  "  she  thought. 
"No  doubt  he  believes  that  I  was  ready, 
willing,  waiting,  to  answer  '  Yes '  when- 
ever he  vouchsafed  to  propose.  To  think 
how  he  looked,  how  he  spoke,  how  he 
held  my  hand!  Oh,  the  wretch! — how 
dared  he!  I  will  never  forgive  him — 
never,  as  long  as  I  live ;  and  I  hope  Mrs. 
Trafford  will  trifle  with  him  and  fool 
him,  as  people  say  she  has  fooled  other 
men !  " 

All  this,  however,  transpired  in  the 
seclusion  of  her  own  breast.  She  was  a* 
once  too  wise  and  too  proud  to  let  March- 
mont detect  any  sign  of  mortification  or 
resentment.  Her  manner  to  him  scarcely 
varied  at  all,  save,  perhaps,  that  it  was 
a  shade  more  careless  than  it  had  been 
before ;  but  there  was  an  intangible 
restraint  on  his  part  whenever  chance 
threw  them  alone  together. 


176 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


Chance  performed  this  kind  office  for 
them  a  day  or  two  after  the  visit  to  Dins- 
more's  studio.  Since  that  time  March- 
inont  had  seen  very  little  of  the  party 
with  which  he  had  before  been  identified. 
His  attention  and  thoughts  were  centred 
on  Mrs.  Trafford,  and  he  became  that 
lady's  shadow  whenever  and  wherever 
she  would  allow  it. 

Nevertheless,  his  nominal  connection 
with  the  Paget  party  continued,  and,  on 
entering  their  sitting-room  one  day,  he 
was  a  little  disconcerted  to  find  Nelly 
alone. 

She  was  in  carriage-costume  even  to 
her  hat,  and,  while  engaged  in  arranging 
some  flowers,  was  standing  exactly  where 
she  stood  on  the  evening  when  he  so 
nearly  proposed  to  her — the  evening  they 
dined  with  Mrs.  Trafford. 

She  glanced  up  and  nodded  with  a 
smile,  but  did  not  pause  in  her  occupa- 
tion. 

"Good-day,  Mr.  Marchmont,"  she 
said,  easily.  "I  believe  this  is  the  first 
time  I  have  seen  you  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  it  is,"  March- 
mont answered.  "I  seem  to  see  very 
little  of  you  of  late,"  he  added,  carrying 
the  war  into  Africa  with  ready  audacity. 
"  My  place  is  so  entirely  usurped  by  Mr. 
Reade,  that  I  have  more  than  once  felt 
myself  de  trop ;  and  since  such  a  sensa- 
tion is  not  pleasant  to  one's  vanity,  and 
I  avoid  on  principle  all  unpleasant  things, 
I  have  refrained  from  inflicting  it  on  my- 
self." 

Nelly's  bright,  honest  eyes  looked  at 
him  with  an  expression  approaching  to 
scorn. 

"  Candor  is  your  chief  virtue — isn't 
it,  Mr.  Marchmont? "  she  said,  with  an 
inflection  of  contempt  in  her  voice.  "  I 
should  judge  so.  You  certainly  have 
seen  and  suffered  a  good  deal  from  Mr. 
Reade's  usurpation.  A  propos,  how  does 
the  revival  of  your  old  friendship  with 
Mrs.  Trafford  progress  ?  " 

It  would  have  pleased  him  to  think 
that  this  question  had  its  origin  in  jeal- 


ousy ;  but,  looking  at  the  face,  and  meet- 
ing the  smile  of  the  speaker,  he  felt  that 
it  was  impossible  to  lay  such  flattering 
unction  to  his  soul.  He  was  a  man  who 
had  never  suffered  himself  to  be  absolute- 
ly blinded  by  vanity,  and  he  now  recog- 
nized very  plainly  the  unpalatable  fact 
that  his  power  with  Nelly  Paget  was 
over. 

"My  old  friendship  with  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford has  been  revived  very  pleasantly," 
he  replied.  "  She  is  a  woman  who  would 
make  friendship,  old  or  new,  agreeable." 

"So  I  imagine,"  said  Nelly,  quietly. 
"  She  is  also  a  woman  who,  if  accounts 
are  to  be  trusted,  has  made  flirtation  a 
fine  art.  I  hope  sincerely  that  you  won't 
suffer  again  from  her  hands  what  you 
suffered  once  before.  I  believe  you  said 
she  trifled  with  your  affections  long  ago." 

"  We  had  a  youthful  episode  du  coeur," 
he  answered,  with  a  laugh ;  "  but  I  hardly 
think  it  amounted  to  trifling  on  either 
side ;  it  was  rather  one  of  those  delight- 
ful early  romances  that  circumstances 
often  nip  in  the  bud." 

"And  later  circumstances  sometimes 
bring  to  full  flower.  That  would  be  most 
romantic  of  all — quite  like  a  novel,  in 
fact,  where  the  husbands  and  wives  die 
off  in  the  most  obliging  manner,  so  as  to 
allow  the  hero  and  heroine  to  come  to- 
gether at  last." 

"  "What  are  you  talking  about,  Nelly? " 
asked  Mrs.  Paget  entering  the  room  at 
the  moment.  She  had  caught  the  last 
words,  and  she  felt  a  little  scandalized. 
To  talk  to  a  widower  of  husbands  and 
wives  dying  off  in  the  most  obliging  man- 
ner, seemed  to  her  a  grave  transgression 
of  good  feeling  and  propriety. 

Nelly  laughed,  and,  walking  to  a  mir- 
ror, began  fastening  a  knot  of  roses  on 
the  lace  scarf  which  was  crossed  over  her 
dress. 

"I  was  congratulating  Mr.  March- 
mont on  being  able  to  test  in  his  own 
person  that,  'after  all,  old  things  are 
best,'  "  she  answered,  lightly.  "  "When 
the  old  things  are  as  charming  as  Mrs. 


'I  REMEMBER  WELL.' 


177 


Trafford,  it  may  be  so ;  but,  for  my  part, 
I  think  I  prefer  new  ones." 

"  As,  for  example,  Mr.  Keade  ?  "  asked 
Marchmont,  with  a  slightly  forced  smile. 

She  looked  at  him  coolly.  "As,  for 
example,  Mr.  Reade,  or  any  one  else  who 
amuses  me,"  she  replied. 

And  it  needed  nothing  further  to  as- 
sure him  that,  let  his  suit  with  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford  speed  as  it  would,  the  door  to  for- 
tune was  barred  to  him  here. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"l   REMEMBER    WELL." 

THE  next  week  or  two  was  undoubt- 
edly the  most  feverish  and  uncomfortable 
period  of  Amy  Trafford's  life.  Old  mem- 
ories of  the  past  tugging  at  her,  and 
urging  her  to  resentment ;  a  struggling 
conscience  vaguely  protesting,  and  a 
heart  dimly  awakening — these  influences, 
together  with  an  amount  of  social  dis- 
sipation calculated  to  tax  the  strongest 
physique  beyond  its  strength,  made  up  a 
state,  inwardly  and  outwardly,  to  which 
she  ever  afterward  looked  back  with  a 
shudder. 

Yet  its  outward  aspect  was  certainly 
brilliant.  Never  had  she  floated  more 
triumphantly  on  the  topmost  wave  of  life 
than  she  floated  now.  Her  grace,  her 
beauty,  her  wealth,  all  combined  to  win 
admittance  for  her  to  the  most  exclusive 
houses  in  London, 

Dinners,  balls,  kettle-drums,  garden- 
parties,  followed  one  another  in  what, 
to  a  novice,  would  have  been  a  bewilder- 
ing succession ;  her  card-basket  over- 
flowed with  cards,  and  Mrs.  Trafford's 
toilets,  Mrs.  Trafford's  dinners,  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford's fascinations,  were  among  the  topics 
of  the  season. 

To  Mrs.  Trafford  much  of  this  was 
weariness  of  the  flesh  and  of  the  spirit; 
but  to  stop  at  will  in  the  treadmill  called 
pleasure  is  not  allowed  to  those  who 
have  once  fairly  entered  upon  it. 


Owing  to  a  superb  constitution,  she 
had  up  to  this  time  been  able  to  resist 
the  wear  and  tear  of  fashionable  dissipa- 
tion remarkably  well ;  but  she  had  always 
heretofore  had  a  mind  and  heart  at  ease. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  neither  mind  nor 
heart  was  in  that  condition,  and  the  re- 
sult was  apparent  in  her  variations  of 
lassitude  and  excitement,  her  sudden 
though  not  great  loss  of  flesh  and  color. 

In  truth,  she  had  -overrated  her 
strength  in  the  part  she  undertook  to 
play  with  Marchmont.  Never  before 
had  she  set  herself  to  the  dissimulation 
necessary  for  ensnaring  a  man  in  whom 
she  felt  no  interest.  That  alone  would 
have  wearied  her  inexpressibly ;  but,  when 
to  want  of  interest  was  added  absolute 
repugnance,  the  effort  became  greater 
than  she  had  at  all  reckoned  upon. 

Nor  was  this  her  only  source  of  dis- 
quietude. Colonel  Danesford's  devotion 
had  reached  a  point  when  it  ceased  alto- 
gether to  gratify,  and  only  annoyed  her. 
Nevertheless,  she  liked  him  sufficiently 
to  feel  averse  to  uttering  the  final  words 
which  would  put  an  end  to  his  hopes. 

For  a  little  while  after  that  scene  in 
Richmond  Park  she  had  asked  herself 
whether  she  might  not  marry  him,  and 
had  almost  persuaded  herself  that  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  to  do  so.  An  old 
name,  a  stainless  character,  an  ample 
fortune,  a  heart  devoted  to  her — what 
more  than  this  could  she  ask  ? 

Colonel  Danesford's  fate,  if  he  had 
only  known  it,  hung  in  the  balance  for 
several  days ;  and  if — ah,  these  ifs  !  what 
a  part  they  play  in  human  life! — if  he 
had  urged  his  suit  again,  the  answer 
might  have  been  all  that  he  desired.  But 
there  was  no  good  fairy  to  whisper  this, 
and  so  for  him,  as  for  many  another  man, 
the  moment  of  opportunity  slipped  by 
unheeded. 

It  ended  in  the  hour  when  Mrs. 
Trafford  met  the  clear,  honest  eyes  of 
her  old  friend  and  lover.  Somehow, 
those  eyes  seemed  to  make  her  realize, 
as  she  had  not  realized  before,  the  hoi- 


178 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


lowness  of  her  life  and  its  object.  To 
wear  costumes  devised  by  Worth,  to  win 
the  admiration  of  men,  to  excite  the  envy 
of  women,  to  go  from  capital  to  capital, 
and  lead  the  same  idle,  aimless  life  in 
each — all  this  seemed  suddenly  very  poor 
and  empty,  when  Hugh  Dinsmore  looked 
at  her  across  all  the  years  which  had 
separated  them,  and  mutely  asked  how  it 
had  fared  with  her  since  they  parted. 

When  a  body  has  been  wrapped  in 
lethargy,  the  consciousness  of  pain  is 
often  a  sign  of  returning  health ;  and  so 
it  was  with  this  woman's  spirit.  To  suf- 
fer is  to  live — alas,  that  the  converse  of 
the  proposition  should  be  so  often  true ! 
— and  her  soul,  waking  from  the  stupor 
in  which  it  had  lain  so  long,  suffered  with 
a  pain  which  mastered  all  its  faculties. 

In  truth,  that  nature  must  be  very 
frivolous  which  a  life  such  as  she  led  can 
satisfy ;  and  its  multifarious  amusements 
and  occupations  began  to  fall  on  her  with 
a  sense  of  satiety  which  can  hardly  be 
expressed. 

These  causes  of  dissatisfaction,  taken 
in  connection  with  others  which  need  not 
be  indicated,  made  this  period,  as  has 
been  already  said,  one  of  restless  and 
fevered  excitement  to  her;  and  so  it 
chanced  one  day  that  she  was  incapaci- 
tated by  a  severe  headache  from  attend- 
ing a  splendid  garden  fete,  in  anticipation 
of  which  "  ravishing "  toilets  had  been 
ordered  from  Paris  for  herself  and  Mari- 
ette. 

To  expect  the  latter  to  surrender  the 
pleasure  of  wearing  this  toilet  on  such 
an  occasion,  would  have  been  to  ask  too 
much  from  human  nature,  when  human 
nature  was  only  eighteen.  Under  Lady 
Gresham's  chaperonage  Mariette  went  to 
the  fete  blithe  as  a  butterfly,  while  Mrs. 
Trafford,  to  her  own  relief,  was  left  at 
home. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  away,  the  great 
pain  she  had  been  enduring  ceased  almost 
altogether,  but  left  her  languid  and  ex- 
hausted. In  this  state  she  was  lying  back 
in  a  deep  chair  before  the  window  of  her 


dressing-room,  when  Celine  entered  with 
a  card. 

Mrs.  Trafford  motioned  it  away  with- 
out looking  at  it. 

."  I  am  not  at  home  to  any  one !  "  she 
said,  impatiently.  "  Why  do  you  trouble 
me  in  this  manner  ? " 

"  A  thousand  pardons,  madame !  " 
said  the  French  maid ;  "  but  this  gentle- 
man has  brought  a  picture,  and  he  de- 
sired that  his  card  should  be  sent  to 
madame,  and,  if  she  was  not  able  to  see 
him—" 

"  A  picture !  "  repeated  madame. 
"  Give  me  the  card." 

She  took  it  and  read  Dinsmore's 
name. 

"  Send  word  to  Mr.  Dinsmore  that  I 
will  be  down  presently,"  she  said,  "and 
give  orders  that  I  am  not  at  home  to  any 
one  else.  Eeturn  quickly,  for  I  must 
make  a  toilet." 

As  the  maid  left  the  room,  she  rose 
and  walked  to  a  mirror.  The  reflection 
which  it  gave  back  was  not  calculated  to 
gratify  an  exacting  beauty.  The  severe 
pain  which  she  suffered  earlier  in  the  day 
had  left  her  complexion  pale  and  her  eyes 
dark-circled. 

"I  would  not  see  any  one  else  when  I 
am  looking  so  dreadfully,"  she  mur- 
mured; "but  he  cares  nothing  for  my 
looks.  I  do  not  think  that  he  observes 
whether  I  am  beautiful  or  frightful; 
hence  it  is  not  worth  while  to  decline  to 
see  him — considering  that  he  comes  so 
seldom." 

When  Celine  returned,  therefore,  she 
had  the  pleasure  of  dressing  her  mistress 
very  plainly — far  too  plainly,  the  lively 
Frenchwoman  thought — simply  winding 
her  soft,  abundant  chestnut  tresses  round 
her  head. 

"Gently,  Celine— gently !  "  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford said,  when  she  touched  the  last. 
"Kemember,  my  head  is  very  sensitive 
just  now.  I  cannot  endure  any  elaborate 
coiffure ;  put  up  the  hair  as  rapidly  and 
easily  as  possible." 

Celine  obeyed,  yet,  in  doing  so,  be- 


'I   REMEMBER  WELL.' 


179 


stowed  an  artistic  touch  or  two  which 
gave  the  head  a  statuesque  grace  that 
suited  the  classic  outline.  "Madame  is 
pale,  but  madame  has  never  looked  bet- 
ter," she  assured  her  mistress,  who  only 
answered,  indifferently : 

"That  will  do.  It  does  not  matter 
how  I  look." 

In  this  frame  of  mind  she  descended 
to  the  drawing-room ;  and  when  Hugh 
Dinsmore  rose  to  meet  her,  he  was  more 
struck  by  her  fair  appearance  than  he  had 
ever  been  before. 

One  reason  of  this  was  because  his  ar- 
tistic eye  at  once  noticed  the  absence  of 
overloading  adornment,  and  recognized 
the  fact  that  real  beauty  is  as  surely  en- 
hanced by  simplicity  as  spurious  beauty 
is  destroyed  by  it.  Even  her  pallor  and 
languor  were  more  attractive  to  him  than 
the  brilliancy  of  dress  and  manner  in 
which  he  always  suspected  effort. 

"  I  fear  I  have  been  very  inconsider- 
ate," he  said,  advancing  and  taking  her 
offered  hand.  "  I  was  told  that  you  were 
unwell,  yet  I  persisted  in  sending  up  my 
card ;  and  now  I  am  afraid  you  have  ex- 
erted yourself  beyond  your  strength  in 
seeing  me." 

"  Do  I  look  so  shockingly  ? "  she  asked, 
smiling.  "I  nattered  myself  that  you 
would  not  know  whether  I  was  well  or 
ill.  But  I  really  am  much  better.  This 
morning  I  suffered  intensely  with  a  severe 
headache,  arising,  no  doubt,  from  irregu- 
lar hours  and  crowded  rooms;  but  it  has 
worn  off  now,  and  I  only  feel  a  little  ex- 
hausted." 

"  You  are  feeling  more  than  '  a  little 
exhausted,'  as  your  face  betokens,"  he 
said,  looking  at  her  with  a  kindliness  of 
manner  she  had  not  seen  him  display  be- 
fore. "And  you  thought  I  would  not 
know  whether  you  were  well  or  ill! 
Pray,  do  you  think  me  so  obtuse? — or 
what?" 

"Indifferent,  more  likely.  But  we 
will  not  discuss  my  appearance,  which 
just  at  present  interests  me  very  little 
indeed." 


"  I  did  not  know  that  a  woman's  ap- 
pearance— especially  a  beautiful  woman's 
appearance — ever  failed  to  interest  her!  " 
said  he,  with  a  smile. 

She  glanced  at  him  with  a  strangely 
wistful  expression  in  her  eyes. 

"  If  I  were  to  tell  you  how  little  my 
appearance  has  interested  me  for  some 
time  past,  you  would  not  believe  me,"  she 
said.  "  Therefore  it  is  not  worth  while 
to  try  your  credulity." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Trafford — "  he  began, 
but  she  interrupted  him,  quickly. 

"Nay,  Hugh,  do  not  attempt  to  be 
other  than  absolutely  true.  Deception — 
even  the  least  form  of  social  deception — 
would  ill  suit  you.  Do  not  deny  that  you 
think  me  steeped  to  the  lips  in  artifice. 
Have  I  not  seen  in  your  face  that  you  dis- 
trust me  entirely?  It  is  rather  late  for 
empty  compliments  between  us." 

"  But  I  have  a  right  to  protest  that 
you  misjudge  me,"  said  he.  "I  should 
be  guilty  of  gross  presumption  if  I  at- 
tempted to  sit  in  judgment  on  your  char- 
acter." 

"  But  you  cannot  deny  that  you  think 
me  artificial  and  insincere !  " 

He  looked-  at  her  steadily.  If  truth 
was  to  be  spoken  between  them,  he  was 
evidently  ready  to  speak  it. 

"  All  women  of  the  world  are  more 
or  less  artificial  and  insincere,  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford," he  said.  "And  I  am  not  suffi- 
ciently acquainted  with  their  characteris- 
tics to  be  able  to  tell  where  artifice  ends 
and  sincerity  begins.  If  I  have  done  you 
an  injustice,  forgive  me,  and  believe  that 
it  was  most  unintentional." 

"  You  have  done  me  every  injustice !  " 
she  said,  with  sudden,  passionate  vehe- 
mence. "  You  have  distrusted  me  without 
cause;  you  have  judged  and  condemned 
me  without  knowledge ;  you  have  made 
me  feel  that  I  possess  neither  your  liking 
nor  respect — " 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  interrupt  you,"  said 
he,  gravely;  "but  may  I  beg  to  know 
why  you  should  hold  my  opinion  of  suffi- 
cient importance  to  arraign  it  in  this 


180 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


manner  ?  If  you  will  be  kind  enough  to 
answer  that  question,  I  will  promise,  on 
my  part,  to  answer  any  that  you  choose 
to  ask." 

For  a  minute  an  obstruction  seemed 
to  rise  in  her  throat  and  choke  her  so  that 
she  could  not  reply.  Then  she  said : 

"It  is  strange  that  you  should  ask  me 
such  a  question.  "Whose  opinion  should  I 
value  in  the  world,  if  not  yours?  You 
are  the  last  link  with  my  old  life ;  and  if 
you  could  know  how  much  I  need  one 
true-hearted  friend,  I  think  that,  for  the 
sake  of  the  old  days  we  spent  together, 
you  would  be  that  friend  to  me." 

If  ever  there  was  honesty  in  human 
eyes,  it  was  in  hers  as  they  looked  at  him 
— no  longer  beguiling  and  alluring,  but 
sadly  earnest.  For  an  instant  Dinsmore 
felt  that  he  must  believe  in  her.  Then  a 
sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  came  over  him, 
and  he  steeled  his  heart. 

"One  true-hearted  friend!"  he  re- 
peated. "  That  means  one  more  trophy 
of  conquest — one  more  proof  of  power — 
does  it  not,  Mrs.  Trafford  ?  If  I  am  rude, 
you  will  excuse  me,  perhaps,  in  memory 
of  the  old  days  of  which  you  spoke  a  mo- 
ment ago.  I  remember  well  what  I  was 
to  you  then — an  amusement,  a  conven- 
ience, a  subject  on  which  to  practise  those 
arts  of  coquetry  which  make  you  famous 
now.  Do  you  think  I  care  to  fill  the 
same  position  again? — to  lounge  by  your 
carriage — to  have  the  distinction  of  lean- 
ing over  your  chair  ftt  the  opera — to  be 
invited  to  your  dinners — to  be  known  as 
the  '  old  friend '  and  latest  caprice  of  the 
charming  Mrs.  Trafford  ?  No !  I  am  not 
the  stuff  of  which  such  playthings  '  for  a 
fair  woman's  foot '  are  made  twice.  I 
told  you,  long  ago,  that  our  paths  in  life 
parted  irrevocably;  and  I  see  nothing  in 
our  accidental  meeting  to  make  me  change 
my  opinion.  In  your  own  rank  of  life, 
among  your  own  associates,  you  surely 
can  find  friends  better  able  to  serve  you 
than  I  am." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  after 
his  voice  ceased — a  moment  in  which 


Mrs.  Trafford  sat  quiet  and  motionless. 
Never  had  she  been  so  repulsed  before  ; 
never,  during  all  these  years  filled  with  ad- 
ulation and  homage,  had  any  man  looked 
at  her  so  fearlessly,  spoken  to  her  so 
boldly.  Rude?  Yes,  there  could  be  no 
doubt  that  he  was  rude  ;  but  what  silken 
words  of  flattery  had  ever  stirred  her 
heart  like  these?  When  she  lifted  her 
eyes  to  his  face,  even  he  was  struck  by 
the  fact  that  there  was  no  shadow  of  re- 
sentment in  their  depths — only  the  same 
wistful  sadness  deepened  to  appeal. 

"You  are  more  unkind  and  unjust 
than  I  ever  thought  you  coxild  be,"  she 
said.  "But  I  suppose  it  is  useless  to 
argue  against  your  convictions.  You 
don't  believe  in  me  ;  that  puts  an  end  to 
the  matter.  Now,  let  us  talk  of  something 
more  entertaining.  You  have  brought  me 
Felix's  portrait — have  you  not?  " 

"  Unjust — unkind  !  "  he  said.  "  I 
should  be  sorry  to  be  guilty  of  either  of 
these  toward  any  one,  but  especially  tow- 
ard you.  If  I  mistrust  you,  have  I  not 
cause  to  do  so  ?  Look  at  the  record  of 
your  life !  Even  at  the  present  time,  how 
many  men  do  you  keep  dangling  in  your 
train,  to  amuse  your  idle  hours  and  offer 
incense  at  your  shrine  ?  You  have  lately 
added  one  '  old  friend '  to  their  number. 
Have  I  not  cause,  then,  to  suspect  that 
you  would  not  object  to  playing  at  senti- 
ment with  another? " 

A  deep  flush  rose  to  her  face  as  she 
understood  to  whom  he  alluded,  but  her 
eyes  met  his  own  steadily  and  clearly,  a 
vivid  light  beginning  to  burn  in  their 
depths. 

"  Can  it  be  possible,"  she  said,  "  that 
you  think  me  likely  to  find  amusement 
or  pleasure  in  the  society  of  Brian  March- 
mont  ?  Of  course,  it  is  not  surprising  that 
others  should  think  so;  but  you— I  did 
not  fancy  that  you,  who  knew  the  story 
of  the  past,  would  be  so  deceived !  " 

He  gazed  at  her  with  a  surprised  and 
doubtful  expression,  which  almost  made 
her  smile. 

" How  can  I  know  what  to  believe?  " 


"I   REMEMBER  WELL." 


181 


he  said.  "  Women  are  very  strange  be- 
ings. A  man  may  be  a  scoundrel,  and 
yet — sometimes,  at  least  —  a  woman's 
heart  seems  to  cling  to  him,  when  better 
men  fail  to  touch  it." 

For  an  instant  she  hardly  compre- 
hended him.  Then,  as  his  meaning 
dawned  on  her — 

"...  the  very  nape  of  her  fair  neck 
Was  rosed  with  indignation." 

"And  you  think  that  of  me — that!'1'' 
she  said,  with  scorn.  "  This  is  worse 
than  all !  It  is  natural — I  am  willing  to 
acknowledge  that  it  is  natural — that  you 
should  believe  me  a  heartless  coquette, 
an  artificial  woman  of  the  world ;  but  to 
think  me  so  lost  to  every  sense  of  pride, 
so  narrow  of  mind,  so  weak  of  nature,  as 
to  love  Brian  Marchmont!  great  Heaven! 
what  words  can  express  the  degradation 
involved  in  such  an  idea !  " 

There  was  no  room  to  doubt  the  gen- 
uineness of  passion  here.  It  blazed  in  her 
eyes,  shone  in  spots  of  crimson  on  her 
cheeks,  and  curved  her  lips  back  from 
the  milk-white  teeth.  Dinsmore  hardly 
knew  what  he  was  doing  as  he  took  one 
of  her  hands. 

"Forgive  me!  "  he  said  ;  "I  see  that 
I  was  wrong  in  thinking  that  he  still  had 
any  hold  on  your  heart.  I  scarcely  knew 
what  to  believe.  It  seemed  so  unaccount- 
able that  you  should  enroll  that  man,  of 
all  men,  in  your  train  of  followers! — that 
you  should  distinguish  him  by  your  fa- 
vor—" 

"  And  why  ?  "  she  interrupted,  impet- 
uously. "Are  you  so  dull  that  you  can- 
not tell  ?  I  have  marveled  that  even  he 
has  not  understood  my  purpose  in  toler- 
ating him.  It  is  simply  that,  when  his 
vanity  has  misled  him  far  enough,  and 
when  he  has  lost  the  last  chance  of  win- 
ning Miss  Paget's  fortune,  I  may  pay  the 
debt  which  I  vowed  ten  years  ago  that  I 
would  pay;  that  I  may  return  upon  him, 
as  far  as  lies  in  my  power,  all  the  indig- 
nity and  pain  he  once  inflicted  upon  me! 
That  is  why  I  have  '  enrolled  him  among 


my  followers  and  distinguished  him  by 
my  favor.' " 

Her  trenchant  tone,  her  smile,  cold  as 
ice  and  keen  as  steel,  made  him  realize 
so  clearly  how  fixed  and  resolute  was  the 
purpose  she  expressed,  that  he  was  silent 
for  fully  a  minute,  before  he  said : 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  expression 
of  astonishment. 

"Why  should  you  be  sorry?"  she 
asked.  "What  is  Brian  Marchmont  to 
you  ? " 

"  Brian  Marchmont  is  nothing  to  me 
but  a  dishonorable  scoundrel,"  he  an- 
swered, quietly.  "You  surely  do  not 
think  that  my  regret  is  for  him  ?  It  is 
of  you  that  I  am  thinking — of  you  alone." 

"And  what  of  me?"  she  asked.  In- 
voluntarily her  smile  and  her  voice  soft- 
ened. To  be  thought  of — to  be  consid- 
ered in  the  least  degree — was  better  than 
indifference. 

"  This  of  you,"  he  replied,  with  a 
sudden  impulse  of  frankness;  "that,  in 
descending  to  such  a  revenge,  you  are 
lowering  yourself  to  a  degree  and  in  a 
manner  far  beyond  the  measure  of  any 
satisfaction  which  you  will  obtain  from 
Marchmont's  humiliation.  No  woman 
can  play  such  a  part  without  suffering  in 
her  self-respect — unless  she  has  thrown 
self-respect  more  completely  to  the  winds 
than  I  can  force  myself  to  believe  that 
you  have  done,  Mrs.  Trafford." 

"Thank  you,  for  that  much  at  least," 
she  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  And  you  are 
right — more  right  than  you  think.  I 
have  suffered,  I  am  suffering,  from  the 
part  I  have  played  with  this  man..  I  feel 
degraded  by  the  touch  of  his  hand,  by 
the  glance  of  his  eye.  I  almost  think  it 
has  made  me  ill,"  she  said,  lifting  her 
hand  and  pushing  back  the  hair  from  her 
brow.  "I  overrated  my  strength,  and  I 
would  gladly  be  done  with  it  if  I  could." 

"And  why  can  you  not?"  said  he, 
earnestly.  "  Believe  me,  one  must  stoop 
so  low  to  revenge  some  injuries,  that  it 
is  best  to  leave  them  unrevenged.  Be- 


182 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


sides,  if  you  make  this  man  desperate,  he 
may  injure  you  more  deeply  than  you  can 
reckon  upon." 

Her  lip  curled  superbly. 

"  I  have  no  fear  of  that,"  she  said. 
"It  is  out  of  Brian  Marchmont's  power 
ever  to  injure  me  again !  " 

"  You  can  never  be  sure  where  or  how 
an  unscrupulous  and  desperate  man  may 
strike,"  said  Dinsmore.  "But  for  your 
own  sake — I  put  him  out  of  the  question 
— you  cannot  end  the  matter  too  soon." 

"I  will  end  it  at  once — to-morrow  if 
I  can,"  she  said.  "  I  am  anxious,  fever- 
ishly anxious,  to  do  so.  And  when  it  is 
ended — when  you  need  no  longer  fear  to 
meet  him  in  this  house — will  you  try  to 
think  less  hardly  of  me,  and  let  me  see 
you  more  often  ? " 

"When  a  beautiful  woman  pleads  with 
eyes  and  voice,  it  is  difficult  for  a  man  to 
withstand  her,  let  the  object  of  her  plead- 
ing be  what  it  will ;  but  when  it  is  for  a 
little  more  of  his  society,  a  degree  more 
of  his  respect,  refusal  becomes  not  only 
difficult,  but  impossible.  So  Hugh  Dins- 
more  found  it. 

"  I  have  never  willingly  thought  hardly 
of  you,"  he  said,  "and  I  am  sorry  indeed 
that  I  have  been  in  any  manner  unjust. 
One  from  my  world  has  little  place  in 
yours ;  but,  if  you  care  to  see  me,  I  shall 
be  glad  now  and  then  to  come.  The  por- 
trait which  I  have  brought  you  is  neglect- 
ed all  this  time,  however.  Will  you  look 
at  it?  I  want  your  opinion  on  one  or 
two  points  regarding  the  likeness." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"THE  LITTLE  LESS,   AND  WHAT   WORLDS 
AWAY  1 " . 

"  I  AM  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  bet- 
ter, Amy,"  said  Mariette,  entering  her 
sister's  dressing-room.  "  Celine  says  that 
you  have  been  well  enough  to  see  a  vis- 
itor." 


"Only  Hugh,"  Mrs.  Trafford  answered. 
"He  came  to  bring  Felix's  portrait.  I 
should  not  have  thought  of  seeing  any  one 
else.  I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  yourself," 
she  went  on,  putting  out  her  hand  caress- 
ingly. "  Was  the  fete  a  very  grand  af- 
fair?" 

"  Oh,  very !  Quite  the  grandest  affair 
of  the  season,  as  far  as  my  experience 
goes.  Everything  was  on  a  superb  scale, 
and  I  saw  no  toilet  more  beautiful  than 
mine.  What  a  pity  you  were  not  able  to 
go!" 

"  I  don't  feel  so.  I  think  I  am  grow- 
ing rather  tired  of  dissipation.  You  can 
tell  me  all  about  it,  and  that  will  be  better 
than  having  seen  it  myself. — How  very, 
very  pretty  you  look !  " 

Mariette  certainly  did  look  very  pretty 
as  she  stood  before  her  sister,  still  wear- 
ing the  costume  which  had  been  one  of 
the  most  charming  at  the  fete,  a  delicate 
flush  on  her  fair  cheeks,  a  bright  light  in 
her  lovely  eyes.  She  glanced  into  a  mir- 
ror, and  laughed  softly. 

"I  suppose  I  am  very  pretty,"  she 
said.  "I  cannot  else  imagine  why  Cap- 
tain Gresham  should  have  asked  me  to 
marry  him." 

A  change  of  interest,  rather  than  of 
surprise,  came  over  Mrs.  Trafford's  face. 
She  had,  for  some  time  past,  felt  sure 
that  Stamer  Gresham's  devotion  would 
culminate  in  a  proposal. 

"  So  he  has  asked  you  to  marry  him  ?  " 
she  said.  "  What  did  you  answer  ? " 

"Is  there  much  room  for  doubt?" 
asked  Mariette,  laughing  again,  as  she 
drew  nearer  and  bent  over  the  back  of 
her  sister's  chair.  "  Can  you  think  it 
possible  that  I  would  refuse  a  future 
baronet?" 

"  There  is  no  need  for  you  to  consider 
that,"  said  Mrs.  Trafford,  quickly.  "I 
mean,  there  is  no  need  for  you  to  accept 
him,  if  you  do  not  feel  sure  that  you  care 
enough  for  him  to  accept  him  if  there 
was  no  baronetcy  in  the  question.  Have 
you  accepted  him,  Mariette?  Do  you 
care  for  him  ?  " 


"THE  LITTLE  LESS,  AND  WHAT  WORLDS  AWAY!" 


183 


"  I  like  him  very  well,"  answered 
Marie tte,  "  and — yes,  I  suppose  I  accepted 
him.  I  certainly  meant  to  do  so,  but  the 
matter  was  rather  confused.  Neverthe- 
less, I  think  he  understood.  You  cannot 
deny,  Amy,  that  to  be  Lady  Gresham 
some  day,  when  Sir  Charles  is  gathered 
to  his  fathers,  will  be  a  brilliant  ending 
for  Mariette  Eeynolds,  whose  father  was 
a  music-teacher,  and  whose  face  is  her 
fortune.1' 

"  Whose  face  may  be  her  fortune — 
but  not  all  her  fortune,"  said  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford.  "  I  have  never  told  you  before, 
because  there  has  never  been  any  reason 
to  do  so ;  but  I  have  always  intended  to 
settle  half  of  my  fortune  on  you  at  your 
marriage." 

"  Half  of  your  fortune !  O  Amy !  " 
The  girl  bent  and  kissed  her  eagerly. 
"  How  generous,  how  kind  you  are !  But, 
surely,  do  you  do  not  mean  half?" 

"  I  mean  exactly  and  entirely  half,  and 
I  make  but  one  condition  in  doing  so." 

"And  that  condition?" 

"Is,  that  you  marry  the  man  yon 
love — not  the  man  who  bids  highest  for 
your  hand." 

Astonishment  was  for  a  moment  Mari- 
ette's  predominant  sensation,  then  an  ex- 
pression of  the  most  genuine  amusement 
swept  over  her  face. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  Amy,"  she 
cried,  with  a  gay  peal  of  laughter;  "but 
the  idea  of  you  as  a  sentimentalist  is  too 
novel  not  to  be  ludicrous!  What  has 
come  over  you,  that  you  should  place 
such  unaccustomed  importance  upon  the 
heart?  Don't  concern  yourself  about 
mine,  I  beg ;  it  is  not  likely  to  trouble 
me.  I  like  Stamer  Gresham  as  well  as  I 
shall  ever  like  any  one,  I  suppose ;  at  all 
events,  I  like  him  well  enough  to  marry 
him.  And,  since  you  mean  to  endow  me 
so  magnificently,  I  presume  his  family 
will  graciously  consent  to  the  alliance." 

Mrs.  Traff ord  turned  so  that  she  could 
gaze  full  into  the  flower-like  face,  and 
took  the  hand  which  rested  nearest  to 
her  on  the  silken  back  of  the  chair. 


"  Are  you  in  earnest,  Mariette  ? "  she 
asked,  with  gravity.  "Do  you  really 
mean  that  you  know  no  man  whom  you 
like  better  than  Stamer  Gresham  ?  " 

"  I  mean  just  that,"  Mariette  answered, 
meeting  her  gaze  steadily.  "  Whom  could 
I  like  better  ?  You  surely  do  not  suspect 
me  of  a  hopeless  fancy  for  one  of  your 
adorers  ? " 

"  That  is  not  likely,"  Mrs.  Trafford 
replied;  but  she  did  not  say  what  she 
had  suspected.  "I  am  only  anxious  that 
you  should  know  your  own  heart — that 
you  should  not  make  one  of  those  terri- 
ble mistakes  which  women  do  sometimes 
make,  and  which  wreck  their  lives  more 
utterly  than  you  can  imagine." 

"There  is  not  the  least  danger  of  it," 
said  Mariette,  with  cheerful  confidence. 
"I  assure  you  that  I  like  Stamer  very 
much,  and  I  like  the  idea  of  being  '  My 
lady '  still  better.  We  may,  therefore, 
consider  the  matter  settled — unless  Sir 
Charles  and  Lady  Gresham  should  decline 
to  receive  me  as  the  wife  of  their  son." 

Sir  Charles  and  Lady  Gresham  were 
certainly  very  much  concerned  when  they 
heard  of  the  rash  conduct  of  that  young 
gentleman.  To  countenance  the  beauti- 
ful and  wealthy  widow  on  whom  Colonel 
Danesford  had  set  his  heart,  was  one 
thing ;  to  receive  an  obscure  and  probably 
portionless  girl  as  the  wife  of  the  heir 
and  hope  of  the  house  of  Gresham,  was 
quite  another.  They  argued,  entreated, 
even  commanded;  but  Stamer  was  firm 
as  a  rock.  He  loved  Miss  Eeynolds  pas- 
sionately, and  he  had  asked  her  to  marry 
him.  On  these  facts  he  took  his  position, 
from  which  nothing  could  make  him  re- 
cede. The  parents,  therefore,  were  at 
last  forced  to  concessions,  and,  the  day 
after  the  proposal  had  been  made,  Lady 
Gresham  betook  herself  to  Mrs.  Trafford, 
in  order  to  make  such  inquiries  with  re- 
gard to  Miss  Reynolds  as  were  natural 
under  the  circumstances. 

Mrs.  Trafford  received  her  with  grace- 
ful courtesy,  but  without  the  least  trace 
of  increased  cordiality.  Her  manner  ex- 


184 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


pressed  very  clearly  that,  though  ready 
to  meet  any  friendly  advances,  she  did 
not  choose  to  make  them. 

"Pray  do  not  think  it  necessary  to 
apologize,"  she  said,  quietly,  when  the 
elder  lady  hinted  something  of  the  kind. 
"  It  is  surely  right  and  proper  that  you 
should  desire  to  know  somewhat  more 
of  the  woman  your  son  wishes  to  marry 
than  that  she  is  a  pretty,  graceful  girl. 
In  point  of  family,  I  tell  you  frankly,  we 
have  nothing  of  which  to  boast — neither 
have  we  anything  of  which  to  be  ashamed. 
We  were  left  orphans  at  an  early  age,  and 
I  married  a  man  considerably  older  than 
myself,  who,  after  caring  for  me  and  all 
connected  with  me,  when  he  died  most 
generously  left  me  his  entire  fortune, 
unfettered  by  a  single  restriction.  It 
amounts  to  more  than  a  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds,  and  I  have  long  intended  to 
settle  half  of  it  on  my  sister.  I  shall  di- 
rect my  lawyer  to  take  at  once  the  proper 
legal  steps  in  the  matter.  And,  if  the 
possession  of  fifty  thousand  pounds  can 
make  amends  for  her  want  of  noble  birth, 
you  may  rest  satisfied,  Lady  Gresham, 
that  she  is  endowed  with  that  amount." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Trafford,  such  won- 
derful generosity — "  Lady  Gresham  be- 
gan, but  Mrs.  Trafford  quietly  interposed  : 

"  Excuse  me,  but  I  do  not  consider 
that  there  is  any  generosity  in  the  matter. 
It  is  a  duty  which  I  have  always  meant 
to  fulfill — which  my  husband  would  have 
fulfilled  had  he  not  known  that  he  could 
trust  me  to  do  so.  I  am  not  making  any 
bid  for  the  honor  of  your  alliance,  Lady 
Gresham ;  I  am  simply  telling  you  what 
I  should  do  whoever  my  sister's  suitor 
chanced  to  be." 

The  quiet  tone,  the  haughty  smile, 
made  Lady  Gresham  recognize  this  fully. 
In  fact,  she  was  surprised  almost  beyond 
the  power  of  speech — surprised  at  the 
woman  who  could  so  coolly  give  away 
fifty  thousand  pounds — still  more  suprised 
at  Stamer's  good  luck ;  for  it  may  be  said 
that  the  fortunes  of  the  Greshams  were 
by  no  means  so  flourishing  as  they  might 


have  been ;  and  a  girl  with  a  dower  of 
fifty  thousand  pounds,  with  enough  beau- 
ty and  grace  for  the  bride  of  a  prince, 
and  whose  objectionable  relations — if  she 
possessed  any — were  safe  in  a  distant 
country,  was  a  veritable  Godsend. 

"I  am  more  than  satisfied,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Trafford,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's 
reflection.  "  You  must,  of  course,  appre- 
ciate the  natural  anxiety  of  parents  when 
anything  so  important  as  the  marriage  of 
their  son  is  concerned.  With  Miss  Rey- 
nolds personally,  both  Sir  Charles  and 
myself  have  been  charmed,  and  we  shall 
be  happy  to  welcome  her  as  a  daughter- 
in-law." 

So  the  matter  was  arranged,  and  pret- 
ty Mariette,  with  her  dower  of  fifty  thou- 
sand pounds,  was  formally  acknowledged 
as  fiancee  of  the  heir  of  Gresham. 

It  may  readily  be  imagined  that  this 
event  was  more  trying  than  gratifying  to 
Colonel  Danesford.  To  see  his  nephew 
win  so  readily  the  girl  on  whom  he  had 
set  his  heart,  while  he,  whose  wooing  had 
been  so  much  longer,  still  hung  in  a  state 
of  uncertainty  on  Mrs.  Trafford's  caprice, 
was  not  only  far  from  agreeable,  but 
brought  home  to  him  the  consciousness 
of  his  own  folly  so  strongly,  that  it  gave 
him  the  resolution  to  end  it. 

"I  will  insist  on  a  definite  answer, 
and  will  abide  by  it,"  he  said,  as  he  found 
himself  in  Mrs.  Trafford's  drawing-room 
awaiting  her  appearance,  a  day  or  two 
after  these  events. 

As  if  to  make  this  resolution  doubly 
hard  for  him  to  execute,  she  came  in, 
looking  more  beautiful  than  usual,  and 
held  out  one  slender  hand  with  her  most 
graceful  air  of  familiar  friendship. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  heard  that  you 
are  to  be  Mariette's  uncle?"  she  said, 
with  a  laugh.  "  Have  you  come  to  offer 
protestations,  or  congratulations  ? " 

"  My  congratulations  have  been  offered 
to  Stamer,"  he  answered.  "  I  think  him 
the  most  fortunate  fellow  I  know;  and 
his  wooing  has  been  accomplished  in  such 
short  order,  that  I  can't  help  envying 


"THE  LITTLE  LESS,  AND  WHAT  WORLDS  AWAY!" 


185 


him,  too.  It  must  be  a  great  thing  to 
know  that  the  happiness  which  one  covets 
most  is  in  one's  grasp." 

She  understood  so  well  what  he 
meant,  that  even  her  conscience — hereto- 
fore very  callous  where  matters  of  the 
heart  were  concerned — suffered  a  twinge. 
The  hright  bloom  deepened  on  her  cheek, 
though  her  eyes  met  his  with  their  pe- 
culiar frankness. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  spoken  thus, 
Colonel  Danesford,"  she  said.  "  It  gives 
me  an  opportunity  to  make  an  explana- 
tion to  you  which  should  have  been  made 
long  ago.  I  blame  myself  very  much  for 
not  having  made  it  sooner — but,  alas ! 
blaming  one's  self  avails  very  little  when 
the  harm  has  been  done." 

He  now  knew  what  was  coming,  and, 
despite  himself,  his  bronzed  cheek  turned 
a  little  paler.  As  he  looked  at  her,  there 
was  a  pleading  wistfulness  in  his  eyes 
which  she  remembered  long  afterward, 
and  his  voice  was  shaken  with  an  in- 
tensity of  feeling  beyond  control,  as  he 
said : 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  tell  me 
tli  at,  after  all,  I  am  nothing  to  you !  " 

"  I  could  not  possibly  tell  you  that," 
she  said,  very  gently.  "  You  are  a  great 
deal  to  me,  and  I  wish — from  my  heart, 
Colonel  Danesford,  I  wish — that  you  were 
more !  " 

It  was  not  a  conventional  speech,  and 
she  was  not  a  conventional  woman — in- 
deed, so  strikingly  unconventional,  that  a 
great  part  of  her  charm  lay  in  that  fact. 
It  was  not  possible  for  him  to  doubt  her 
sincerity  or  her  meaning,  but  he  could 
not  command  himself  sufficiently  to 
speak,  and,  after  a  moment's  pause,  she 
went  on : 

"You  have  a  right  to  think  that  I 
have  treated  you  shamefully,  and  I  don't 
know  that  it  is  any  excuse  to  say  that  I 
did  not  mean  to  do  so.  A  few  weeks  ago 
I  thought,  for  a  little  while,  that  I  might 
marry  you ;  but  now  I  see  that  I  should 
be  inflicting  on  you  the  greatest  possible 
harm  and  injury  if  I  did  such  a  thing. 


Do  you  believe  in  love,  Coloned  Danes- 
ford  ? " 

"  You  must  have  little  idea  what  I 
feel  for  you,  when  you  can  ask  me  such 
a  question !  "  he  answered,  hoarsely. 

"Then  what  would  you  think  of  a 
woman  who  married  you  without  loving 
you,  as  you  so  well  deserve  to  be  loved  ? 
Surely  you  are  not  like  some  men — surely 
you  would  not  be  satisfied  to  take  the 
hand  without  the  heart  ?  " 

"  I  should  not  be  satisfied  unless  I  pos- 
sessed the  whole  heart  of  the  woman  who 
gave  me  her  hand,"  he  replied.  "  But 
why  is  it  impossible  that  I  should  win 
yours?  I  will  wait,  Mrs.  Trafford,  even 
longer  than  I  have  waited  already,  if  you 
can  give  me  any  hope  of  winning  it  at  last." 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said — "oh!  very 
sorry ! — but  I  must  tell  you  frankly  that 
there  is  no  hope.  If  you  could  have  won 
it,  it  would  have  been  yours  long  ago.  I 
have  not  meant  to  trifle  with  you,"  she 
went  on.  "I  wish  you  would  believe 
that.  Since  I  have  appreciated  what  you 
are,  I  have  often  wondered  why  I  do  not 
love  you;  but  one  cannot  answer  such 
questions.  Perhaps  I  have  no  heart — at 
least,  it  is  certain  I  have  none  worth  giv- 
ing you" 

At  this  point,  the  sore  jealousy  which 
had  been  rankling  in  him  for  some  time 
could  not  forbear  expression. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  a  little  bitterly, 
"you  have  thought  it  worth  giving  to 
your  old  friend  Mr.  Marchmont." 

Her  eyes  looked  at  him  with  a  singu- 
lar expression  in  their  lustrous  depths — 
an  expression  not  easily  defined,  but  in 
which  scorn  played  a  large  part. 

"Is  it  possible,"  she  said,  "that  you 
can  think  so  poorly  of  me  as  to  imagine 
that  I  would  turn  from  you  to  give  my 
heart  to  him  ?  I  do  not  deny  that  he  has 
reason  to  believe  such  a  thing,  but  you 
should  know  me  better.  No,  Colonel 
Danesford,  there  is  not  a  man  on  the  face 
of  the  earth  to  whom  I  could  not  sooner 
give  my  heart  than  to  my  'old  friend 
Mr.  Marchmont ! ' " 


186 


AFTER   MANY   DAYS. 


"  And  yet — "  lie  said,  then  paused, 
remembering  that  he  had  no  right  to 
arraign  her. 

"  And  yet,  you  would  say,  you  have 
seen  me  lead  him  on  to  certain  disap- 
pointment and  mortification.  That  is  very 
true — so  true,  that,  since  I  should  like  to 
retain  your  respect,  I  will  tell  you  what 
reason  I  have  for  treating  this  man  with 
what  appears  such  heartlessness." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  he  said,  "if  you 
think  that,  under  any  circumstances,  I 
could  fail  to  give  you  other  than  respect. 
You  have  heen  the  one  woman  in  the 
world  to  me  too  long,  fer  me  ever  to 
cease  to  think  of  you  as  one  whom  I  ad- 
mire only  less  than  I  love." 

At  these  generous  words  her  eyes  soft- 
ened with  unshed  tears.  Once  again  she 
asked  herself  what  perverse  spirit  kept 
her  from  loving  this  gallant  gentleman  ? 
But— 

"...  the  little  more,  and  how  much  it  is  ! 
And  the  little  less,  and  what  worlds  away ! " 

Such  riddles  are  heyond  all  solving. 
Why  should  the  "little  less"  not  he  a 
"little  more?"  Who  is  wise  enough  to 
answer? 

"  You  are  far  kinder  than  I  deserve, 
and  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart,"  she 
said,  in  a  voice  like  spoken  music.  "  But 
I  think  I  will  tell  you  my  story.  It  pan 
do  no  harm,  and,  after  you  have  heard  it, 
you  will  understand  me  hetter  than  you 
do  now." 

So  she  told  him  the  story  of  the  brief, 
ill-fated  passion  of  her  girlhood,  with  its 
attendant  results  on  her  life,  and  de- 
scribed how  Fate  had  seemed,  despite  all 
her  efforts,  to  thrust  Marchmont  into  her 
path  again,  and  put  the  means  of  revenge 
ready  to  her  hand. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  lowering  myself 
in  playing  such  a  part,"  she  said,  in  con- 
clusion ;  "  yet  I  am  not  only  paying  my 
debt  to  him,  but  I  am  saving  a  true-hearted 
girl  from  a  marriage  which  could  not  be 
other  than  wretched." 

"Nevertheless,  you  are  lowering  your- 


self," said  Danesford,  as  Hugh  had  said 
before  him.  "  The  revenge  is  not  worthy 
of  you.  And  is  it  possible,"  he  went  on, 
with  passionate  reproach,  "  that  you  will 
let  the  shadow  of  this  man  lie  on  your 
heart  and  keep  you  from  loving  again 
— you,  who  could  love  so  truly  and  so 
well?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  His  shadow  passed 
away  from  me  long,  long  ago.  But  such 
a  passion  is  like  a  fire  that  scorches  all 
natural  vegetation.  No  man  who  has 
entered  my  life  since  my  widowhood  has 
touched  anything  deeper  than  my  vanity 
— until  I  met  you.  You  have  won  every- 
thing except  my  heart." 

"And  for  the  last  time,"  said  he,  tak- 
ing her  hand,  "  tell  me  is  there  no  hope 
of  winning  that  by  patience  and  devo- 
tion ?  " 

She  was  strong  enough  to  meet  his 
pleading  eyes  gravely  and  steadily  with 
her  own. 

"  I  must  make  no  more  mistakes,  give 
no  more  false  encouragement,  my  dear 
Colonel  Danesford,"  she  said.  "  You 
must  forgive  me  if  you  can — there  is  no 
hope ! " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence;  then 
he  bent  his  head  and  kissed  her  hand. 

"  God  bless  you !  "  he  said,  huskily.  "  I 
have  nothing  to  forgive." 

The  next  instant  she  found  herself 
alone. 

She  sat  quite  motionless  where  he  left 
her,  gazing  at  the  hand  on  which  the  sen- 
sation of  his  kiss  still  lingered, 

"Is  this  wisdom,  or  folly?  "  she  said 
to  herself.  "It  seems  incredible  that  I 
should  have  found  one  such  heart  in  the 
artificial  world  where  my  life  is  cast.  I 
am  not  likely  ever  to  find  another.  Am 
I  not  mad  to  cast  it  away — for  what?  A 
mere  sentiment,  an  unreality,  which  at 
my  age  should  have  lost  all  influence  over 
me." 

What  would  have  been  the  end  of  this 
reflective  regret,  it  is  impossible  to  say ; 
but  her  thoughts  were  suddenly  dissipated 


;  SCORES   ARE   SETTLED   BETWEEN   US.' 


187 


by  a  voice  at  the  door  behind  her  an- 
nouncing— 

"  Mr.  Reade !  " 

She  started,  and  turned  quickly  as  the 
young  artist  advanced  across  the  floor 
with  a  springing  tread  and  a  beaming 
face. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Trafford,  you  will  par- 
don me,  I  am  sure,  for  intruding  on  you 
so  unceremoniously,  when  you  hear  that 
I  have  come  to  claim  your  congratula- 
tions," he  said,  joyously.  "  But  for  your 
kindness,  such  good  fortune  would  never 
have  come  to  pass.  Miss  Paget  has  ac- 
cepted me !  " 

"  I  am  truly  glad  to  hear  it,  and  I  con- 
gratulate you  with  all  my  heart ! "  an- 
swered Mrs.  Trafford,  cordially  extending 
her  hand.  "  It  is  very  good  of  you  to 
recognize  my  interests,  and  to  come  and 
give  me  the  intelligence  at  once.  I  take 
it  for  granted  that  the  engagement  is  not 
of  long  standing? " 

"Three  hours,  exactly!"  answered 
he,  laughing.  "  I  felt  that  I  was  in  grat- 
itude bound  to  communicate  the  happy 
result  to  you  without  loss  of  time,  since 
but  for  your  encouragement  it  would 
hardly  be  an  accomplished  fact." 

"I  think  you  are  mistaken  in  that," 
said  she,  smiling,  "though  I  am  not 
averse  to  claiming  a  little  share  in  bring- 
ing it  about.  I  think  you  are  a  happy 
pan,  Mr.  Reade.  I  am  sure  you  look  as 
if  you  were !  " 

"I  am,  indeed,"  said  he.  "In  all 
England  there  is  not  a  happier  man. 
Such  exaltation  of  feeling  cannot  last, 
of  course ;  but  Nelly  is  a  girl  whom  any 
man  might  be  proud,  as  well  as  happy,  to 
win." 

"I  have  not  the  least  doubt  of  it," 
said  Mrs.  Trafford.  "  I  was  charmed  with 
her  when  we  first  met;  and  I  told  you 
then  —  do  you  remember?  —  that  you 
should  be  doubly  anxious  to  win,  since 
winning  her  meant  saving  her  from  the 
man  who  was  your  rival." 

"I  remember;  and  I  am  so  well  con- 
vinced that  you  were  right,  that  it  makes 


me  doubly  happy  that  I  have  won,  and 
he— " 

"  lias  lost  more  than  he  knows !  " 
said  Mrs.  Trafford,  with  a  swift  flash  in 
her  eyes. 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

"  SCORES   ARE   SETTLED   BETWEEN   US." 

MAKOHMONT  was  soon  destined  to 
learn  what  he  had  lost.  Despite  his 
change  of  matrimonial  intentions,  the 
news  of  Nelly  Paget's  engagement  was 
a  shock  to  him.  Without  exactly  saying 
to  himself  that  he  would  hold  her  in  his 
hand  to  fall  back  upon  in  case  his  ambi- 
tion with  regard  to  Mrs.  Trafford  failed, 
he  had  felt  something  of  the  kind,  and 
now  he  was  told  that  the  prize  which  he 
had  relinquished  another  man  had  grasped 
without  loss  of  time.  At  that  moment, 
according  to  a  common  impulse  of  human 
nature,  it  seemed  to  him  better  worth 
grasping  than  it  had  ever  seemed  before. 
Perhaps  this  was  owing  to  the  desperate 
state  of  his  affairs,  and  the  forebodings 
he  entertained  of  Mrs.  Trafford's  caprice. 
At  least,  it  is  certain  that  a  doubt  of  his 
own  wisdom  was  the  first  thought  which 
rose  to  his  mind  when  "Walter  Paget  told 
him  the  news. 

."Honestly,  I  don't  fancy  the  affair 
very  much,"  that  gentleman  said.  "A 
foreigner,  a  painter,  a  man  that  we  know 
very  little  about,  is  by  no  means  my  ideal 
of  a  brother-in-law.  But  Nelly,  like  most 
women,  is  determined  to  have  her  own 
way,  and  there  is  really  no  very  strong 
ground  for  objection." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  the  matter  has 
been  arranged  in  a  short  time,"  said 
Marchmont,  as  soon  as  he  could  control 
his  voice  to  speak.  "Miss  Paget  has  not 
known  Mr.  Reade  very  long." 

"  Cupid  does  not  take  long  to  draw 
his.  bow!"  replied  Mr.  Paget,  with  a 
slight  shrug.  "I  proposed  to  my  wife 
on  a  week's  acquaintance.  Nelly  and 
Reade  have  been  very  much  thrown  to- 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


gether  of  late — especially  since  you  re- 
newed your  old  friendship  with  Mrs. 
Trafford." 

This  last  shot  effectually  stopped  all 
further  words  on  Marchmont's  lips.  Yes, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  renewal 
of  his  "  old  friendship  "  with  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford was  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole 
affair.  But  for  that,  he  knew  that  Nelly 
Paget  would  be  engaged  to  him,  instead 
of  to  this  stranger  who  had  so  lately  en- 
tered her  life. 

"If  all  goes  well,  I  shall  not  regret 
it,"  he  thought.  "But  the  question  is, 
will  all  go  well  ?  "When  I  am  with  Amy, 
I  cannot  distrust  her ;  but  whenever  I  am 
away  from  her,  all  manner  of  doubts  as- 
sail me.  If  she  should  be  playing  the 
same  game  with  me  which  she  has  played 
with  other  men,  I  am  simply  ruined !  " 

So  much  was  now  staked  on  the  vent- 
ure, that  he  felt  nervously  afraid  to  con- 
sider it — nervously  afraid  to  make  the 
final  plunge,  and  "win  or  lose  it  all." 
Yet  he  knew  that  the  sooner  this  was 
done,  the  better.  Other  men— men  with 
pretensions  in  every  way  higher  than  his 
own — were  thronging  round  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford, and  the  man  who  won  her  at  all 
must  win  her  boldly. 

After  parting  with  "Walter  Paget  some- 
where in  the  neighborhood  of  midnight, 
he  smoked  a  cigar  of  meditation  before 
retiring.  He  was  not  a  man  much  given 
to  reflections  on  the  past,  but  it  was  im- 
possible, at  such  a  crisis  as  the  present, 
to  refrain  from  thinking  of  the  wonderful 
turn  which  Fortune's  wheel  had  made  in 
his  relations  with  the  woman  who  had 
been  Amy  Reynolds.  His  mind  went 
back  vividly  to  those  old  days  in  Edger- 
ton,  when,  in  flirting  with  her,  he  had 
lost  one  of  the  most  desirable  of  the  suc- 
cession of  heiresses  at  whose  golden 
shrines  he  had  bowed.  Recalling  this,  it 
began  to  seem  to  him  a  simple  matter  of 
poetic  justice  that  she,  who  had  twice 
stood  between  him  and  fortune,  should 
bring  fortune  to  him  at  last  in  her  own 
hand. 


This  sanguine  belief  came  to  him 
strongly  when  he  awoke  the  next  day, 
and  decided  that  before  its  sun  went 
down  his  fate  should  be  assured. 

"  Colors  seen  by  candle-light 
Do  not  look  the  same  by  day," 

and  the  doubt  and  indecision  of  the  night 
before  were  altogether  dissipated.  Rea- 
son, instinct,  knowledge  of  womankind — 
all  combined  to  say  that,  when  he  went 
to  woo,  he  also  went  to  win.  He  could 
not  seriously  entertain  the  idea  that,  in 
leading  him  on  as  she  had  done,  Mrs. 
Trafford  had  only  been  trifling.  Coquette 
though  she  might  be  with  some  men,  it 
was  impossible  that  he  had  anything  to 
fear — he  who  had  once  swayed  her  as 
the  wind  sways  a  reed ! 

He  offered  his  congratulations  to  Miss 
Paget  with  a  cordiality  in  which  there 
was  not  the  least  suggestion  of  disap- 
pointment; and  if  Nelly  had  hoped,  ac- 
cording to  the  fashion  of  women,  for 
some  such  sign,  she  was  not  gratified. 

Yet,  it  must  not  be  supposed  from 
this  that  pique  had  played  any  large  part 
in  causing  her  to  accept  Reade.  That 
she  was  not  averse  to  showing  March- 
mont  how  slight  an  impression  he  had 
made  on  her  fancy,  there  can  be  no 
doubt ;  but  this  desire  alone  would  never 
have  urged  her  to  such  a  step. 

The  young  artist  had  found  his  op- 
portunity when  her  mind  and  heart  were 
enduring  the  sting  of  neglect,  and  he  used 
it  so  well  that  he  had  entered  into  both, 
and  possessed  them  as  a  kingdom. 

She  was  heartily  and  happily  in  love 
with  the  man  who  had  won  her;  never- 
theless, she  would  have  liked  to  read 
some  token  of  regret  in  the  face  of  the 
man  who  had  lost  her. 

There  was  none,  however,  to  be  read. 
An  adept  for  many  years  in  the  art  of 
concealing  all  that  he  felt,  it  was  not 
likely  that  such  a  desirable  accomplish- 
ment should  fail  Marchmont  now.  It 
was,  moreover,  a  consoling  thought  that 
he  had  not  been  defeated,  but  had  volun- 


SCORES   ARE   SETTLED   BETWEEN  US." 


189 


tarily  relinquished  the  opportunity  which 
Fate  placed  in  his  hands.  The  time  might 
come  when  he  would  regret  this  oppor- 
tunity, but  it  had  not  come  yet ;  it  would 
not  come  while  Mrs.  Trafford's  heauty 
and  wealth  still  hung  before  him  as  a 
glittering  prize. 

Of  late  he  had  been  admitted  by  that 
lady  to  a  position  of  very  pleasant  inti- 
macy; and  he  availed  himself  of  it  to- 
day, by  presenting  himself  at  rather  an 
early  hour  in  the  drawing-room. 

"I  must  apologize  for  such  an  un- 
seasonable visit,"  he  said,  when  she  en- 
tered; "but  I  wanted  so  much  to  find 
you  alone,  that  I  ventured  to  intrude  up- 
on you  at  this  hour.  I  hope  you  will 
pardon  me." 

"  Very  readily,"  she  answered,  quiet- 
ly, though  even  her  brave  heart  quailed 
a  little  as  she  thought  that  the  issue  of 
battle  was  before  her.  "  But  you  must 
not  be  surprised  if  you  find  me  stupid," 
she  added.  "  The  wear-and-tear  of  Lon- 
don dissipation  is  beginning  to  tell  on  me  ; 
and,  if  I  do  not  soon  go  away  in  search  of 
pastures  new  and  fresh,  I  fear  I  shall 
fall  into  the  ranks  of  the  hopelessly 
dull." 

"  That  is  not  very  probable,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile.  "  But  you  are  looking  a 
trifle  pale." 

"  It  is  not  remarkable.  I  have  had  a 
great  deal  on  my  mind,  if  not  on  my 
heart,  lately.  As  if  it  were  not  trouble 
enough  that  I  am  to  lose  Mariette,  I  am 
harassed  with  legal  business  in  connection 
with  that  loss." 

"I  have  heard  that  you  have  been 
most  generous  in  settling  part  of  your 
fortune  on  her." 

"Generous?  I  hate  that  word!" 
said  she,  impatiently.  "  Is  it  strange 
that  I  should  divide  a  fortune  already 
larger  than  my  wants  with  the  sister  who 
has  been  more  of  a  child  than  a  sister  to 
me?" 

"  When  you  speak  of  dividing,  you 
do  not  mean  to  imply  that  you  give  Tialf 
of  it  to  her?"  asked  he,  unable  to  re- 


strain altogether  the  consternation  which 
he  felt. 

She  looked  at  him  keenly  as  she  an- 
swered :  "  I  mean  just  that.  My  lawyer 
is  now  engaged  in  settling  half  on  her  as 
securely  as  it  can  be  settled." 

Marchmont  barely  escaped  saying 
"Good  Heavens!"  aloud.  He  was  dis- 
mayed to  the  point  of  disgust,  and  he 
wished  most  devoutly  that  he  was  in  a 
position  to  remonstrate  with  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford  on  her  folly.  But  good  sense  and 
good  taste  both  forbade  such  an  idea, 
and  forced  him  to  conceal  his  disgust  and 
dismay  as  best  he  could.  There  was  no 
doubt  that,  even  bereft  of  half  her  for- 
tune, the  beautiful  widow  was  worth 
gaining:  but  the  thought  of  that  lost 
half  annoyed  him  terribly. 

u  Miss  Reynolds  has  a  very  brilliant 
life  before  her,"  he  said,  presently.  "  It 
is  difficult  to  realize  that  the  future  Lady 
Gresham  was  ever  the  little  golden-haired 
Mariette  of  Edgerton." 

He  had  learned  long  since  that  she 
never  shrank  from  any  allusion  to  Edger- 
ton and  her  old  life  there. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Trafforcl,  calmly,  "  it 
is  difficult  to  realize  what  marvelous 
changes  money  can  work.  I  am  even 
more  of  an  example  than  Mariette.  It 
sometimes  requires  an  absolute  effort  for 
me  to  fancy  that  I  ever  was  Amy  Rey- 
nolds, living  in  hap-hazard  Bohemian  pov- 
erty, and  looking  to  stage-triumphs  as  my 
highest  hope  in  life !  " 

"  Yet  what  happy  days  they  were !  " 
said  he,  regarding  her  with  the  same 
glance  which  had  thrilled  her  so  often  in 
the  days  of  which  they  were  talking.  "  I 
don't  know  how  you  may  regard  them, 
Mrs.  Trafford,  but  to  me  they  are  the  one 
spot  of  romance — of  romance  the  most 
true  and  tender — in  a  worldly  life.  It 
would  be  impossible  for  me  to  tell  you 
how  often,  during  all  these  years,  I  have 
paused  in  the  midst  of  excitement,  toil, 
and  struggle,  to  dream  of  the  garden  in 
which  we  spent  so  many  happy  hours,  of 
the  woodland  glen  where  I  found  you 


190 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


first,  and  of  the  old  parlor  where  you  so 
often  sang  to  me.  Yet  I  never  ventured 
to  hope  that  we  should  meet  again — that 
I  should  ever  sit  by  you  as  now,  and  find 
the  promise  of  your  girlhood  more  than 
fulfilled  in  your  beauty  and  your  charms." 

He  held  himself  in  check  very  well, 
mindful  that  in  such  a  game  as  this  he 
must  make  every  move  with  caution,  and 
his  voice  was  eloquent  with  an  expres- 
sion which  only  sincerity  could  have 
given.  In  fact,  if  Marchmont  ever  was 
sincere,  he  was  at  this  moment.  His  old 
love  for  Amy  Eeynolds  was  as  water 
unto  wine  compared  with  the  passion 
which  he  felt  for  the  beautiful  woman 
now  before  him.  If  he  could  win  her! 
At  that  moment  he  was  more  than  ready 
to  pardon  every  unkind  trick  of  Fortune, 
if  only  he  might  grasp  this  prize  at  last. 

There  was  not  much  encouragement 
for  his  hopes  in  Mrs.  Traffbrd's  smile,  if 
he  had  read  that  smile  aright ;  but  to  do 
so  required  a  coolness  of  judgment  which 
he  was  not  then  in  a  condition  to  exer- 
cise. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  quiet- 
ly ;  "  but  I  don't  like  compliments — per- 
haps because  I  have  had  a  surfeit  of  them 
— and  I  am  callous  to  the  spell  of  old  sen- 
timent. Gardens,  woodland  glens,  and 
the  like  haunts  of  flirtation,  would  prob- 
ably not  lose  their  attraction  if  one  could 
be  sixteen  forever;  but,  happily,  time 
bears  us  away  from  that  very  foolish  age, 
and  we  leave  its  tastes  as  well  as  its  ab- 
surdities behind  us." 

"Its  absurdities,  if  you  choose  to  call 
them  so,  were  nearer  wisdom  than  the 
cynicism  which  comes  so  readily  to  us 
now,"  said  he,  earnestly.  "  If  you  would 
believe  and  feel  that  as  I  do,  something 
of  the  charm  of  that  golden  time  might 
come  back  for  us  yet." 

Looking  full  at  him,  she  lifted  her 
eyebrows  with  a  slightly  interrogative 
and  half-mocking  expression. 

"  Pardon  me,"  she  said,  "  but  are  you 
not  taking  a  good  deal  for  granted  ?  Have 
I  implied  in  the  remotest  manner  that  the 


'golden  time,'  of  which  you  speak  so  elo- 
quently has  any  charm  for  me  ?  " 

He  was  more  than  a  little  taken  aback 
for  an .  instant,  but  recovered  himself 
readily.  Evidently  this  woman,  with 
her  ten  years  of  worldly  training  behind 
her,  was  not  to  be  wooed,  like  a  school- 
girl, with  mere  sentiment ;  and,  perceiv- 
ing this,  he  changed  his  tone  instant- 

ly. 

"Do  not  misunderstand  me,"  he  said. 
"  I  recognize  as  clearly  as  you  do  the  gulf 
of  change — change  in  outward  events, 
yet  most  of  all  in  ourselves — which  sepa- 
rates us  from  that  time.  I  remember  its 
miseries  as  well  as  its  happiness.  But 
neither  of  us  is  likely  to  deny  that 
there  was  happiness  in  it;  and,  despite 
all  the  years  and  the  changes  which  have 
divided  us,  that  happiness  may  be  ours 
again — if  you  choose,  Amy." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ventured 
to  call  her  by  the' old  name  once  so  com- 
mon to  his  lips;  and,  as  he  uttered  it 
now,  a  flash  came  into  her  eyes,  but  she 
drooped  her  lids  quickly  over  them,  and 
after  an  instant  she  was  able  to  control 
her  voice  sufficiently  to  reply : 

"Pray  explain  yourself.  How  can 
the  happiness  of  which  you  speak — and 
concerning  the  existence  of  which  we  will 
not  argue — be  ours  again,  if  I  choose  ?  " 

"  Does  not  your  own  heart  answer 
that  question  ?  "  asked  he,  with  genuine 
emotion  in  his  face  and  voice.  "  What 
did  our  happiness  spring  from  but  love — 
love  Avhich  we  felt  and  expressed  in  the 
face  of  every  obstacle?  It  was  a  ro- 
mance then — bright,  sweet,  utterly  hope- 
less— but  it  may,  if  you  choose,  be  far 
better  now.  The  future  is  in  our  own 
hands,  Amy.  Can  we  not  grasp  all  of 
which  Fate  robbed  us  when  it  parted  us 
ten  years  ago  ?  " 

He  attempted  to  take  her  hand,  but 
she  drew  it  away,  and,  lifting  her  eyes, 
looked  at  him.  In  the  cold,  steady  scorn 
of  that  glance  he  read  his  answer.  Her 
hour  for  triumph  and  retaliation  had 
come,  and  she  was  not  likely  to  spare 


SCORES  ARE   SETTLED   BETWEEN  US." 


191 


the  man  who  had  once  sacrificed  her 
heart  for  his  idle  pleasure. 

"  Do  you  not  think  it  is  time  for  this 
farce  to  end,  Mr.  Marchmont  ? "  she  asked, 
in  a  tone  so  keen  and  trenchant  that  it 
cut  like  a  whip.  "  I  have  listened  to  you 
thus  far,  partly  because  you  amused  me, 
and  partly  because  I  was  curious  to  see 
how  far  your  forgetfulness  of  the  past — 
or  your  reckoning  on  my  forgetting  it — 
would  lead  you.  My  curiosity  is  entirely 
satisfied.  You  have  made  a  great  many 
mistakes  in  your  life,  I  doubt  not;  but 
you  have  never  made — you  never  can 
make — a  greater  than  when  you  dreamed 
that  I  had  so  utterly  lost  sight  of  all  I 
owe  you,  that  you  could  venture  to  speak 
to  me  like  this !  "  . 

Coldness  vanished  from  her  speech 
with  the  last  words,  and  a  flood  of  pas- 
sion shivered  through  them,  while  her 
dauntless  eyes  met  his  with  a  glow  which 
no  man  could  have  been  dull  enough  to 
misunderstand. 

The  transformation  was  so  sudden  and 
so  complete  that  his  first  feeling  was  one 
of  intense  amazement,  and  he  gazed  at 
her  like  one  who  is  incredulous  of  the 
evidence  of  his  own  ears. 

Seeing  this,  she  smiled — a  haughty, 
contemptuous  smile. 

"Do  you  understand  now,"  she  said, 
"  that  scores  are  to  be  settled  between  us  ? 
If  you  had  been  wise,  Mr.  Marchmont, 
you  would  have  chosen  any  other  woman 
on  earth  than  Amy  Reynolds  for  the  ob- 
ject of  a  fortune-hunter's  scheme !  " 

These  words  seemed  to  restore  him  to 
himself — at  least,  they  brought  a  dark- 
red  flush  to  his  face  and  a  gleam  into  his 
eyes.  Yet  he  did  not  lose  control  of  him- 
self, for  in  an  instant  he  grasped  the 
thought  that,  if  she  only  distrusted  his 
sincerity  all  might  yet  be  well. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  he  said,  "  that  you, 
who  know  the  world  and  the  hearts  of 
men  so  well,  can  believe  that  I  am  think- 
ing of  your  fortune.  You  must  know — 
you  must  feel  to  the  centre  of  your  soul 
— that  I  love  you  with  a  most 'passionate 


devotion !  It  would  be  strange  if  I  failed 
to  do  so,  when  you,  mistress  as  you  are  of 
every  fascination  that  can  beguile,  have 
exerted  all  those  fascinations  upon  me." 

"  You  are  right,"  she  answered.  "  I 
have  endeavored  to  ensnare  your  fancy ; 
and  if  I  have  succeeded — if  you,  indeed,  feel 
for  me  anything  approaching  to  a  passion 
— it  was  only  what  I  intended,  to  make 
my  reprisal  complete.  In  all  your  mem- 
ories of  the  past,  have  you  forgotten  the 
scene  of  our  parting  ?  /  remember  it  as 
if  it  had  occurred  yesterday.  I  remember 
that,  when  you  coolly  told  me  that  I  had 
served  to  amuse  you,  and,  the  time  for 
amusement  being  over,  all  was  ended  be- 
tween us,  I  warned  you  that,  if  ever  any 
chance  of  life  put  it  in  my  power  to  re- 
turn upon  you  the  suffering  and  mortifi- 
cation you  had  so  ruthlessly  inflicted,  I 
would  do  so  remorselessly.  That  time 
has  come.  You,  misled  by  your  own  folly 
and  vanity,  have  placed  the  opportunity 
in  my  hand.  You  chose  to  seek  me  out ; 
you  would  not  heed  my  warnings.  Now 
take  the  consequences ;  now  comprehend 
that  I  detest  as  deeply  as  I  scorn  you,  and 
that  there  is  not  a  beggar  in  the  streets — 
nay,  I  will  go  further,  there  is  not  a  felon 
in  the  prisons — whom  I  would  not  soon- 
er marry !  Now  do  you  understand?  " 

It  were  needless  to  ask  the  question. 
If  ever  a  man  understood  the  full,  bitter 
truth,  Brian  Marchmont  understood  it 
then.  His  face  became  more  than  pale; 
it  was  fairly  livid,  as,  with  a  conscious- 
ness like  a  revealing  flash  of  lightning, 
he  saw  everything — saw  how  blindly  he 
had  fallen  into  this  woman's  net,  and  how 
she  had  befooled  and  beguiled  him,  while 
Nelly  Paget  and  Nelly  Paget's  fortune 
passed  beyond  his  reach. 

Seeing  that  he  was  absolutely  incapa- 
ble of  speech,  Mrs.  Traff  ord  rose.  Though 
she  did  not  feel  the  faintest  sensation  of 
pity — for  all  the  memories  of  the  past  had 
rushed  upon  her  with  overwhelming  force 
— she  was  anxious  to  end  a  scene  which 
could  only  become  more  distinctly  un- 
pleasant with  every  succeeding  moment. 


192 


AFTER  MANY   DAYS. 


"  It  is  not  likely  that  we  shall  meet 
again,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  cold  as  ice. 
"  I  have  only  tolerated  your  presence  in 
order  that  I  might  pay  the  debt  which  I 
owed  you ;  and  now  scores  are  settled  be- 
tween us  forever." 

"Not  quite  settled,"  he  interposed, 
rising  also,  and  advancing  abruptly  tow- 
ard her.  "Believe  me,  Mrs.  Trafford, 
the  last  act  of  the  drama,  whether  you 
choose  to  consider  it  tragedy,  comedy,  or 
farce,  is  not  played  yet.  To  retaliate 
upon  me  for  the  fancied  injury  inflicted 
by  a  flirtation  ten  years  ago — a  flirtation 
which  cost  me  the  surrender  of  my  most 
brilliant  worldly  prospects — you  have  not 
only  inspired  a  passion  that  you  meant  to 
scorn  and  hopes  you  intended  to  disap- 
point, but  you  cannot  deny  that  it  is 
chiefly  owing  to  you  that  Miss  Paget  has 
engaged  herself  to  an  unknown  Bohe- 
mian." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  denying  it," 
replied  she,  calmly.  "I  intended  from 
the  first  to  save  Tier  and  disappoint  you. 
I  have  accomplished  both." 

"For  the  present,"  said  he,  with  a 
calmness  which  equaled  her  own.  "  But 
did  you  ever  hear  that  'he  laughs  best 
who  laughs  last?'  Again  I  say,  Mrs. 
Trafford,  the  last  act  has  yet  to  he 
played !  " 

She  flung  her  head  back  proudly. 

"I  understand  what  you  mean  to  im- 
ply," she  said.  "  That  you  would  gladly 
injure  me  if  you  could,  I  do  not  doubt; 
but  I  defy  you  !  The  last  pang  which  it 
was  in  your  power  to  inflict  on  me,  you 
inflicted  ten  years  ago  in  Edgerton.  So 
long  as  we  two  live  upon  the  earth,  Brian 
Marchmont,  it  will  never  be  in  your  pow- 
er to  harm  me  again." 

He  smiled  in  a  manner  which  would 
have  caused  a  less  brave  woman  to  shud- 
der— a  smile  more  significant  than  any 
frown. 

"  You  have  made  me  your  debtor  to  a 
very  great  degree,"  he  said,  "and  it  re- 
mains to  be  seen  whether  there  may  not 
be  yet  another  settlement  of  scores  be- 


tween us!  For  the  present,  however,  I 
accept  your  dismissal;  when  we  meet 
again,  Mrs.  Trafford,  it  may  be  /  who  will 
laugh  last." 

These  were  the  final  words  uttered 
between  them.  He  left  the  room  with  a 
bow ;  and  she,  standing  quite  still  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor  asked  herself  if  she 
were  dreaming,  or  if,  indeed,  her  long  and 
bitter  reckoning  with  Brian  Marchmont 
was  settled  at  last. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  I    WILL   FIND   THE    WAT." 

IT  would  be  vain  to  attempt  to  de- 
scribe the  storm  of  emotion  which  raged 
in  Marchmont's  breast  when  he  went  forth 
from  Mrs.  Trafford's  presence.  Never  in 
his  life  before — not  even  on  the  unforgot- 
ten  night  when  Beatrix  Waldron  poured 
out  her  scorn  upon  him — had  he  been  so 
humiliated,  so  utterly  baffled,  as  now. 
That  defeat  had  seemed  to  him  intoler- 
able, but  this  was  tenfold  worse.  To 
have  been  lured  by  any  woman  to  such 
an  end  for  such  a  purpose,  would  have 
proved  bitter  enough  when  the  end  came ; 
but  it  was  doubly  bitter  to  consider  that 
she  who  had  so  mercilessly  fooled  and 
beguiled  him  was  no  other  than  the 
woman  whom  he  had  once  esteemed  of 
such  slight  importance  that  he  had  cast 
her  out  of  his  path  without  a  thought.  It 
appeared  to  him  an  outrage  of  Fate  which 
had  thus  thrown  him  in  her  power ;  and 
when  he  thought  of  the  double  blow 
which  she  had  struck— of  all  that  he 
had  lost  in  losing  Nelly  Paget— he  could 
only  grind  his  teeth  and  utter  impotent 
curses. 

Impotent  for  the  present;  but,  now 
as  ever,  there  were  powers  of  strong  feel- 
ing and  strong  doing  in  this  man's  nature, 
which  only  needed  a  touch  to  waken 
them.  Unscrupulous  at  all  times,  with 
the  incentives  of  mortified  pride  and 


I  WILL  FIND   THE  WAY.' 


193 


baffled  ambition,  he  was  ready  to  grasp 
any  means  by  which  revenge  might  be 
secured. 

Nevertheless,  he  did  not  close  his  eyes 
to  the  fact  that  it  was  difficult  to  see  how 
he  could  hope  to  strike  Mrs.  Trafford. 
She  had  defied  him  to  inflict  another 
pang  on  her,  and  he  knew  that  the  defi- 
ance was  more  than  mere  bravado — that 
it  rested  on  very  solid  grounds.  All  the 
advantage  of  position  was  hers,  and  one 
so  well  supported  by  wealth  and  social 
prestige  could  afford  to  set  at  naught  the 
malice  of  a  discarded  suitor.  He  recog- 
nized the  situation  at  a  glance;  but  he 
said  to  himself,  with  an  emphasis  which 
had 'the  force  of  an  oath: 

"I  will  find  the  way!  •' 

Absorbed  in  these  thoughts,  he  did 
not  observe  where  he  was  going,  until, 
having  walked  mechanically  for  some 
distance,  he  found  himself  in  Hyde  Park, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Row,  which 
at  this  hour  was  filled  with  equestrians. 

It  was  a  very  gay  and  animated  scene, 
but  he  scarcely  took  in  a  feature  of  it  as 
he  slowly  strolled  along  the  footpath. 
The  blooming  young  Amazons  on  their 
handsome  horses  did  not  win  a  glance 
from  him,  and  his  mind  was  as  far  as 
possible  away  from  them,  when  a  blithe 
voice  suddenly  said  : 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Marchmont? 
Are  you  rehearsing  the  part  of  Hamlet  ? 
— or  why  is  it  that  you  so  resolutely  cut 
your  friends  ? " 

He  turned,  and  found  himself  con- 
fronted by  Hebe  on  horseback — in  other 
words,  by  Mariette  Reynolds,  who  had 
pulled  up  her  horse  to  address  him.  She 
was  laughing,  and  the  sunlight  was  glint- 
ing down  upon  her,  brightening  the  sheen 
of  her  golden  hair  until  it  seemed  literally 
woven  of  sunbeams,  showing  the  exquisite 
lines  of  her  figure,  and  playing  over  her 
lovely  face,  with  its  complexion  of  roses 
and  snow. 

Altogether,  so  fair  a  picture  was  she 
— so  radiant  with  youth  and  beauty  and 
good  spirits — that  Marchmont  was  sud- 
13 


denly  conscious  that  Stamer  Gresham 
was  a  very  fortunate  man. 

With  this  fortunate  man  and  his  sister 
— a  handsome  girl,  of  the  substantial  Eng- 
lish order — Mariette  was  riding,  but  she 
had  begun  to  find  their  society  a  trifle 
dull  when  she  saw  Marchmont ;  and, 
since  he  had  twice  allowed  her  to  pass 
without  noticing  her,  she  acted  on  an 
impulse  and  reined  up  her  horse,  uttering 
the  words  recorded  above. 

They  were  words  which  startled  him 
by  their  unexpectedness ;  but  he  was 
carefully  trained  in  self-control,  and  the 
habit  of  years  did  not  desert  him.  He 
swung  round,  and  lifted  his  hat  with  a 
smile. 

"  Charmed  to  meet  you,  Miss  Rey- 
nolds— and  thanks  for  recalling  me  to  a 
sense  of  what  I  was  losing.  I  was  pass- 
ing along  with  a  feeling  of  '  What  is  He- 
cuba ' — otherwise  the  Row — '  to  me,  or  I 
to  Hecuba?'  But  I  did  not  know  that 
the  fairest  face  in  London  was  to  be  seen 
on  it!" 

Not  yet  had  compliments  lost  their 
savor  to  Mariette.  The  face  of  which  he 
spoke  brightened  and  blushed  with  pleas- 
ure under  his  gaze  ;  and  at  this  moment 
an  idea  darted  into  Marchmont's  mind 
like  a  flash  of  inspiration.  Here  was  his 
means  of  revenge — here  was  the  channel 
through  which  he  might  strike  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford a  blow  that  would  forever  settle 
scores  between  them !  It  was  an  idea  of 
daring  audacity,  but  he  was  a  desperate 
man  ready  for  desperate  ventures.  He 
could  lose  nothing,  he  might  gain  much ; 
and,  on  the  chance,  with  the  instinct  of 
a  gambler,  he  was  willing  to  stake  every- 
thing. 

It  was  the  work  of  an  instant  to  glance 
from  Mariette  to  the  commonplace  young 
Briton  by  her  side,  and  reckon  the  odds 
against  success.  That  they  were  heavy, 
there  could  be  no  doubt — so  heavy,  that 
it  seemed  madness  to  dream  of  that  which 
had  occurred  to  him ;  but  he  was  abso- 
lutely reckless.  Even  if  he  failed,  he 
would  only  be  where  he  was  now ;  while 


194 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


success  would  mean  so  much,  that  the 
mere  thought  of  it  sent  a  thrill  of  hope 
and  resolution  through  him.  Fortune 
favors  the  daring,  and  he  determined  to 
dare  all  things. 

Taking  advantage  of  Mariette's  pause, 
Captain  and  Miss  Gresham  were  talking 
to  some  friends,  so  that  he  had  a  moment's 
opportunity  to  speak  unheard. 

"I  have  just  seen  your  sister,  and 
learned  that  I  must  congratulate  you," 
he  said.  "  It  is  the  old  story — 

'  The  smile  that  blest  one  lover's  heart 
Has  broken  many  more.' 

But  those  that  are  broken  have  no  right 
to  complain,  I  suppose.  Besides,  broken 
hearts  are  out  of  fashion." 

"Hearts  of  all  kinds  are,"  said  Mari- 
ette,  gayly ;  yet  something  in  the  glance 
of  the  dark  eyes  made  her  blush  again. 
"  "Who  considers  them  nowadays  ?  Were 
you  thinking  of  anything  so  obsolete, 
as  you  sauntered  along,  like  a  tragedy- 
hero  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  looking  straight 
into  the  blue  depths  of  her  eyes  with  his 
most  effective  gaze ;  "I  was  thinking  of 
those  obsolete  things,  and — it  may  be 
presumptuous  of  me,  but  finding  you  here 
at  this  moment  is  so  strange — I  should 
like  to  tell  you  of  what  I  was  thinking. 
I  might  bore  you,  however;  so  perhaps 
it  is  as  well  that  I  must  say,  instead,  au 
revoir." 

""Were  you  thinking  of  me?"  she 
asked,  quickly,  curiosity  rising  in  her 
breast.  "  I  can't  imagine  that  possible." 

"  Can  you  not?  "  with  a  smile.  "  Then 
have  faith  in  the  impossible.  I  was  think- 
ing a  great  deal  which  I  should  seriously 
like  to  tell  you,  but  which  we  lack  time 
and  opportunity  to  discuss  now.  Do  you 
feel  interest  enough  in  it  to  care  to  make 
an  opportunity  to  hear  it  ?  " 

"  What  need  is  there  to  make  an 
opportunity  ?  "  asked  she,  with  some  sur- 
prise. 

"Simply  this  need,"  answered  he, 
with  growing  earnestness,  as  he  felt  the 


desperate  nature  of  the  game  he  was  at- 
tempting to  play,  "that  I  desire  to  see 
you — alone,  and  without  interruption. 
This,  as  you  know,  is  impossible  under 
any  ordinary  circumstances  of  meeting. 
Therefore,  occupying  almost  the  position 
of  a  grandfather  to  you — certainly  having 
known  you  when  you  were  no  higher 
than  this  stick — I  feel  tempted  to  pro- 
pose an  extraordinary  mode  of  meet- 
ing." 

As  was  natural,  his  manner  puzzled 
Mariette  exceedingly,  and  stimulated  her 
interest.  She  was  not  only  curious,  but 
the  volatile  elements  in  her  nature  caught 
at  anything  which  promised  excitement 
out  of  the  ordinary  way. 

"I  can  appreciate  the  grandfatherly 
claim,"  she  said,  with  mischievous  grav- 
ity, "  and  I  should  like  to  hear  the  mys- 
terious subject  of  your  thoughts.  Pray 
let  me  know  what  extraordinary  mode 
of  meeting  you  propose  ?  " 

"  One  not  at  all  extraordinary  save  in 
the  fact  of  being  removed  from  your  usu- 
al surroundings,"  he  replied,  eagerly — so 
eagerly  that  the  girl's  interest  waxed 
greater.  "Did  I  not  hear  you  say,  the 
other  day,  that  you  should  like  to  spend 
some  one  of  these  beautiful  afternoons 
loitering  in  Kensington  Gardens  ?  Unless 
Captain  Gresham  claims  all  your  time, 
will  you  not  give  me  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing you  there  this  afternoon  ? " 

"Meeting  me?"  said  she,  interroga- 
tively. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  I  cannot  ex- 
plain now,  but  I  should  prefer  that  no 
one  knew  of  the  meeting.  Give  me  a 
chance — only  a  chance !  "  he  pleaded.  "  I 
have  something  to  tell  you  which  may  be 
of  great — of  the  greatest  importance. 
Will  you  come  ?  I  promise  this,  at  least : 
you  will  not  regret  it" 

Mariette  hesitated,  uncertain  what  to 
say  or  do.  Marchmont's  request,  and, 
still  more,  Marchmont's  manner,  was  so 
singular,  that  she  felt  more  curious  than 
can  be  readily  expressed.  After  all,  what 
objection  was  there  to  the  plan  he  pro- 


"I  WILL  FIND   THE   WAY!" 


195 


posed  ?  To  meet  an  old  friend — a  friend 
of  her  childhood — in  the  pleasant  shades 
of  Kensington  Gardens,  and  loiter  away 
an  hour  or  two,  surely  neither  sister  nor 
lover  could  find  any  wrong  in  that  ?  Just 
as  she  reached  this  conclusion,  Captain 
Gresham  turned  and  asked  if  she  was 
ready  to  ride  on. 

"  Quite  ready,"  she  replied.  Then 
she  turned  to  Marchmont  and  said: 
"What  hour  shall  we  appoint?  Five? 
Remember,  I  expect  something  very  in- 
teresting to  repay  me  for  sacrificing  a 
kettle-drum  to  which  I  am  engaged  to 
accompany  Amy." 

She  bowed,  smiled,  and  rode  away,  in 
her  youth  and  grace,  by  the  side  of  the 
man  to  whom  she  was  engaged ;  while 
the  man  whom  she  had  left  standing  by 
the  rails  looked  after  her  and  said  to  him- 
self: "It  is  a  desperate  cast;  but  some- 
times the  desperate  win." 

Cleverly  eluding  all  questions  from 
her  lover  about  the  appointment  she  had 
made,  Mariette  finished  her  ride  and 
went  home.  The  more  she  thought  of 
Marchmont,  his  singular  manner  and  sin- 
gular request,  the  more  her  curiosity  was 
piqued,  and,  instead  of  regretting  the  ap- 
pointment, she  resolved  to  keep  it. 

"  What  can  he  have  to  tell  me  ?  "  she 
thought.  "  It  is  very  odd !  Perhaps  he 
has  heard  some  dreadful  story  about  Sta- 
mer ;  but  he  would  be  likely  to  go  to  Amy 
with  that.  Ah,  I  have  it!  He  must 
want  me  to  exert  my  influence  with  Amy 
in  his  behalf.  If  he  only  knew  it,  Love's 
labor  is  lost  there.  I  think  I'll  tell  him 
so,  and  then,  perhaps,  I  shall  draw  out 
the  history  of  the  old  affair,  which  Amy 
will  never  mention.  I  should  like  to  hear 
it,  for  I  have  not  forgotten  how  he  used 
to  come  'to  hear  her  sing,'  and  how  she 
met  him  in  the  woods.  Such  stolen  ro- 
mance must  be  very  sweet — and  he  would 
make  a  charming  lover !  What  eyes — ah, 
what  eyes  he  has !  And  then,  he  looks 
like  a  man  with  a  story.  Poor  Stamer 
has  no  such  appearance,  and  I  must  con- 
fess that  he  is  very  commonplace  and  un- 


interesting. I  do  not  like  Englishmen; 
there  is  no  doubt  of  that.  They  do  not 
know  how  to  talk,  and  they  are  very 
heavy  after  one  has  known  them  a 
while." 

With  this  decision — rather  foreign,  it 
would  seem,  to  the  subject  of  her  medita- 
tion— Miss  Eeynolds  went  down  to  lunch- 
eon, where  her  attention  was  sufficiently 
disengaged  to  notice  that  Mrs.  Trafford 
looked  rather  pale. 

"  Have  you  another  headache,  Amy  ? " 
she  asked.  "  What  a  pity  you  did  not  go 
to  ride  with  us !  The  Row  was  delight- 
ful. You  were  not  condemned  to  soli- 
tude, however,  for  I  met  Mr.  Marchmont, 
and  he  said  he  had  just  left  you." 

A  change,  slight  but  significant,  came 
over  Mrs.  Trafford's  face  at  the  mention 
of  Marchmont's  name ;  but  it  did  not  oc- 
cur to  her  to  break  through  the  reticence 
which  she  had  hitherto  observed  regard- 
ing him. 

"Yes,  he  was  here,"  she  answered; 
and  then  she  changed  the  subject  so 
quickly  that  Mariette's  suspicions  were 
roused. 

"  Something  out  of  the  ordinary  way 
has  occurred  between  them,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "  Perhaps  I  shall  hear  from  Mm 
what  it  was.  Since  Amy  does  not  choose 
to  be  frank  with  me,  I  shall  not  be  frank 
with  her."  Then  she  said :  "  You'll  ex- 
cuse my  going  with  you  to  Mrs.  St.  John's 
kettle-drum — will  you  not?  Like  your- 
self, I  am  rather  tired  of  festivities — at 
least  of  that  order  of  festivities." 

"  I  will  excuse  yon  very  readily,"  Mrs. 
Trafford  answered,,  with  a  smile.  "I 
don't  wonder  you  are  tired,  and,  after 
resting  this  afternoon,  you  will  be  fresh- 
er for  the  balls  at  which  we  are  due  to- 
night." 

So  Mariette  carried  her  point  without 
difficulty;  and  after  Mrs.  Trafford  had 
departed  to  Mrs.  St.  John's  kettle-drum, 
she  put  on  a  quiet  but  most  becoming 
walking-costume,  and  set  forth  to  keep 
her  appointment. 


196 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


An  hour  later  a  lady  and  gentleman 
might  have  been  seen  pacing  slowly  along 
one  of  the  velvet-turfed,  leaf -canopied  al- 
leys of  Kensington  Gardens,  talking  with 
that  air  of  thorough  preoccupation  which 
is  v$ry  full  of  significance  to  lookers-on. 
They  were  no  doubt  taken  for  a  pair  of 
lovers  by  all  who  observed  them,  and,  had 
they  been  so,  they  could  have  found  no 
fitter  place  to  linger  than  this  "lovely 
lawn  of  Kensington." 

It  was  looking  its  loveliest  just  now, 
in  the  soft  beauty  of  the  June  afternoon 
— long,  slanting,  golden  light  lying  on 
emerald  sward,  and  deep  shadows  lying 
under  splendid  trees.  Mariette  had  ex- 
claimed enthusiastically  over  its  beauty 
when  she  entered ;  but  Nature  always 
played  a  very  subordinate  part  with  her, 
and  it  was  particularly  subordinate  now, 
because  she  was  deeply  interested  in  the 
etory  which  Marchmont  had  brought  her 
there  to  hear. 

It  was  a  very  effective  story,  effective- 
ly told — the  story  of  his  own  life  viewed 
through  the  medium  of  his  own  imagina- 
tion. 

"  You  must  pardon  me  if  I  am  egotis- 
tical," he  said,  when  beginning.  "  It  is  a 
necessary  preface  to  what  I  shall  tell  you 
afterward,  that  I  should  tell  you  first  the 
story  of  my  life.  I  will  endeavor  not  to 
be  tedious,  and  I  shall  certainly  be  truth- 
ful." 

"Don't  trouble  yourself  with  any 
fears  of  tediousness,"  Mariette  had  an- 
swered, lightly;  "I  am  always  fond  of 
autobiography,  and  yours  will  be  particu- 
larly interesting,  because  I  hardly  fancy  I 
am  wrong  in  thinking  it .  is  connected  in 
certain  passages  with  my  childish  recol- 
lections of  persons  and  events." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  he  replied, 
"but  you  have  probably  heard  all  that 
from  Mrs.  Trafford,  so  I  will  not  bore  you 
by  repeating — " 

"I  have  never  heard  anything  from 
Amy,"  she  interrupted,  eagerly,  fearful 
that  her  curiosity  might  be  ungratified  at 
last,  and,  in  her  ignorance,  giving  him 


exactly  the  assurance  he  wanted.  "  I  re- 
member, of  course,  how  intimate  you  and 
Amy  were,  and  I  know  you  must  have 
been  in  love  with  each  other ;  but  that  is 
all  I  know." 

"  You  shall  know  all  that  I  can  tell 
you,"  he  said,  with  an  apparent  impulse 
of  candor ;  and  he  plunged  at  once  into 
the  recital. 

It  has  already  been  said  that  it  was 
very  effectively  made.  By  a  few  graphic 
words  he  described  his  position  when  he 
first  appeared  in  Edgerton,  his  ambitious 
hopes  of  entering  public  life,  and  his  want 
of  the  fortune  requisite  for  such  a  career. 
Under  these  circumstances,  that  arrange- 
ment which  the  French  call  mariage  de 
convenance  seemed  to  him  the  most  de- 
sirable he  could  make,  and  therefore  he 
went  to  Edgerton  as  Beatrix  Waldron's 
suitor.  But  he  had  hardly  set  himself 
seriously  at  work  to  win  the  heiress's 
hand,  when  he  met  lovely,  penniless  Amy 
Reynolds,  and  fell  hopelessly  in  love. 

Then,  what  a  pure,  idyllic  romance  it 
was  which  followed !  Had  Mrs.  Trafford 
heard  his  description  of  it,  she  might  have 
been  convinced  that  no  truer-hearted 
lover  was  ever  driven  by  the  force  of 
circumstances  to  resign  the  girl  he  loved. 

Then  came  a  brief  sketch  of  the  ten 
years'  interval — "  full  to  the  brim  as  re- 
garded worldly  success,  absolutely  empty 
as  regarded  the  heart,"  he  said,  patheti- 
cally. And  finally  he  reached  the  present 
time. 

It  required  all  his  most  delicate  di- 
plomacy to  deal  with  it,  but  he  acquitted 
himself  admirably.  It  is  true  that  Mari- 
ette felt  a  little  bewildered  as  she  listened, 
a  little  uncertain  how  to  reconcile  her 
own  observation  with  these  frank  state- 
ments ;  but,  on  the  whole,  his  statements 
carried  the  day. 

This  was  scarcely  to  be  wondered  at ; 
everything  seconded  them  so  well !  Some 
special  pleaders  can  color  all  things  with 
the  hues  of  their  own  eloquence — can 
make  black  appear  white  and  white  seem 
black ;  and  to  this  class  Marchmont  be- 


"I   WILL  FIND   THE   WAY!" 


197 


longed.  Few  girls  in  Mariette's  position 
could  have  been  insensible  to  confidences 
uttered  in  such  a  thrilling  voice,  second- 
ed by  such  a  poetically-handsome  face, 
and  with  every  romantic  influence  of 
time  and  place  in  their  favor.  What 
soft  leaf-shadows  flickered  over  them  as 
the  breeze  at  intervals  stirred  the  boughs 
overhead!  How  the  level  yellow  sun- 
beams lighted  up  the  foliage,  and  streaked 
the  dark  trunks  of  the  trees  with  gold ! 

And  with  all  these  influences  around 
— influences  very  potent  on  the  impres- 
sionable heart  of  eighteen — what  was  it 
that  she  heard?  Why,  simply  this:  that 
when  Marchmont  saw  Mrs.  Trafford 
again,  he  strove  to  renew  the  broken  links 
of  old  romance,  and  failed  utterly. 

"  I  found  that  the  girl  I  loved  had 
passed  away  forever,"  he  said,  "  and  left 
in  her  place  a  brilliant,  heartless  woman 
of  the  world.  The  nearer  I  came  to  her, 
the  more  I  felt  that  my  ideal  had  fled  for- 
ever. Then,  heart-sick  and  disappointed, 
I  turned  away,  and,  lo  !  the  ideal,  which 
I  had  fancied  lost,  stood  before  me — real- 
ized a  hundred-fold !'  With  all  the  tender 
grace  of  youth,  all  the  wayward  charm 
of  a  nature  exquisitely  fresh  and  fair,  I 
found  it — in  you,  Mariette !  " 

"  In  me ! "  repeated  Mariette,  with  a 
start  and  a  blush.  "  You  surely  are  jest- 
ing!" 

"  Is  it  likely  that  I  would  jest  on  such 
a  subject  ? "  he  asked,  reproachfully. 
"  Believe  me,  I  am  as  earnest  as  a  man 
can  be — Tiow  earnest,  indeed,  I  would  not 
make  you  comprehend,  if  I  could.  And 
do  not  mistake  me :  though  I  found  my 
ideal,  it  did  not  for  a  moment  occur  to 
me  to  think  of  winning  it.  I  knew  that 
such  bright  youth  as  yours  should  mate 
with  bright  youth — not  with  a  life  like 
mine,  passing  out  of  youth.  I  could  love 
— nay,  I  do  love — with  a  passion  far  deep- 
er and  stronger  than  that  of  any  boy. 
But  you  would  never  have  heard  of  the 
existence  of  this  passion,  if  I  had  not  felt 
that  it  gave  me  the  right  to  utter  a  warn- 
ing, when  I  saw  you  about  to  sacrifice 


yourself  on  the  altar  of  a  worldly  mar- 
riage. Mariette" — he  took  her  hand  as 
he  spoke — "tell  me,  do  you  imagine 
yourself  in  love  with  the  commonplace 
young  Englishman  whom  you  have 
pledged  yourself  to  marry  ?  " 

"I — really,  I  don't  know  why  you 
should  doubt  it,"  Mariette  managed  to 
answer  with  moderate  self-possession. 
"  He  is  very — nice." 

"Just  that,"  her  companion  replied, 
coolly.  "  Very  nice,  undoubtedly,  and 
nothing  more.  While  you —  Mariette, 
is  it  possible  you  have  no  idea  what  you 
are?" 

"  I  think  I  know  pretty  well,"  Mari- 
ette murmured.     "  Modesty  is  not  one  of 
my  failings.     And  I  like  Captain  Gresham . 
very  much.     You  must  not  think  that  I 
do  not." 

"Do  you  love  him?" — and  the  grasp 
grew  warmer  on  her  hand.  "Answer 
me  that.  If  you  can  truly  say  that  you 
do —  Well,  I  shall  try  to  believe  you, 
and  be  satisfied." 

But  Mariette  could  not  say  it.  Was 
it  the  clasp  on  her  hand,  or  the  earnest 
gaze  of  the  dark  eyes,  which  rendered 
her  speechless — or  was  it  some  new, 
strange  feeling  in  her  own  breast?  What- 
ever it  was,  her  head  drooped  a  little, 
and,  for  answer,  warm  blushes  came, 
mantling  into  her  fair  cheeks. 

"  I  see !  "  said  Marchmont,  after  a 
minute's  pause,  and  he  drew  a  deep  breath 
as  of  one  relieved  from  a  great  dread. 
"  You  do  not  love  him,  and  you  must  for- 
give me  if  I  implore  you  not  to  sacrifice 
your  life,  your  heart,  your  soul,  in  the 
bondage  of  such  a  marriage.  Surely 
there  is  no  need  for  it ;  surely  your  sis- 
ter—" 

"My  sister,"  said  Mariette,  with  a 
faint,  tremulous  laugh,  "has  grown  very 
sentimental  of  late,  and  declares  that  she 
wishes  me  only  to  marry  the  man  I — 
love." 

"  She  has  learned  what  loveless  mar- 
riage is,  in  her  own  experience,  and  she 
would  save  you  from  it.  Why,  then,  do 


198 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


you  not  heed  her  ?  Has  your  heart  not 
yet  waked  ?  But  it  will  wake  some  day, 
and  avenge  the  wrong  you  -have  done  it, 
in  a  manner  of  which  you  could  not  now 
even  dream." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  which 
he  did  not  altogether  understand.  In 
truth,  it  had  no  meaning  beyond  the  fact 
that  she  was  enjoying  this  excitement — 
with  its  piquant  taste  of  stolen  fruit — far 
more  than  Stamer  Gresham's  rather  mo- 
notonous love-making.  The  man  by  her 
side,  with  his  musical  voice  and  passion- 
ate eyes,  was  a  lover  of  another  stamp 
altogether,  and  certainly  more  attractive. 
She  did  not  comprehend  him ;  she  had 
an  instinct  which  held  her  back  from 
.  wholly  trusting  him ;  yet  she  felt  the 
power  of  his  fascination  more  and  more 
with  every  moment.  If  she  had  been 
wise,  she  would  have  left  him  at  once ; 
but,  under  temptation,  few  are  wise. 
There  was  no  harm  in  lingering  a  little 
longer  in  the  mellow  sunshine,  beneath 
the  spreading  trees — no  harm  in  drinking 
a  little  deeper  of  this  sweet  draught  of 
passionate,  romantic  devotion.  He  had 
not  asked  for  anything.  Where  was  the 
harm  of  merely  listening? 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    BLOW    FALLS. 

"  A  LADY  wants  to  see  you,  Mr.  Dins- 
more — a  lady  in  her  carriage.  Shall  I 
ask  her  to  walk  up  ?  " 

So  spoke  a  servant  of  rather  grimy 
aspect,  appearing  at  the  door  of  Hugh 
Dinsmore's  studio,  where  the  latter  was 
hard  at  work,  painting  as  if  his  life  de- 
pended on  every  stroke.  He  looked 
round  in  surprise. 

"A  lady! — to  see  me!  What  the 
deuce —  Oh  !  you  have  her  card  !  " 

He  took  the  card,  and  his  surprise 
was  not  lessened  when  he  found  Mrs. 
Trafford's  name  thereon.  He  did  not  say 
anything,  but  he  changed  color.  Putting 


his  palette  out  of  his  hand,  and  motion- 
ing the  servant  aside,  he  himself  went  to 
the  door.  There  was  no  mistake.  It  was 
Mrs.  Trafford,  who,  when  he  approached 
the  carriage  in  which  she  sat,  held  out 
her  hand  to  him. 

"  Will  you  pardon  me  for  taking  you 
by  surprise  like  this? "  she  asked.  " But 
I  really  have  a  reason  for  it.  May  I  g<* 
up  to  your  studio  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  may — of  course,  I  am 
delighted  to  see  you !  "  he  answered,  of- 
fering his  arm  to  descend.  "  You  find  me 
in  working-gear  altogether,"  he  added, 
with  an  apologetic  glance  at  his  painting- 
coat,  "but  you  will,  no  doubt,  excuse 
that." 

"Excuse  it!  I  should  think  so,  in- 
deed!" she  answered,  as  they  went  up 
to  the  studio.  "I  only  hope  you  will 
excuse  me,  when  I  tell  you  why  I  have 
intruded  on  your  work." 

"Surely  you  must  know  that  you  do 
not  intrude  upon  me,"  he  said  with  a 
gravity  more  reassuring  than  any  gal- 
lantry could  have  been.  "  I  shall  be  sin- 
cerely glad  if  it  is  in  my  power  to  serve 
you  in  any  way.  Let  me  give  you 'a  seat 
by  the  window,"  he  went  on,  as  they  en- 
tered the  studio.  "  You  can  see  the  river 
from  there,  and  it  is  better  worth  looking 
at  than  my  unfinished  work." 

"  Your  unfinished  work  interests  me 
more  than  a  hundred  rivers  could,"  she 
answered.  "  May  I  see  what  you  are 
doing?" 

Without  waiting  for  his  answer,  she 
walked  directly  up  to  the  large  easel 
where  the  canvas  rested  on  which  he 
had  been  painting. 

It  was  the  scene  already  described 
from  the  "  Rhyme  of  the  Duchess  May ;  " 
and,  as  Mrs.  Trafford  looked  at  it,  she  saw 
at  once  that  the  face  of  the  duchess  had 
been  painted  —  a  marvel ously  beautiful 
face,  imploring,  yet  calm,  despite  the 
agony  of  the  attitude ;  but  it  was  fully  a 
minute  before  she  realized  that  it  was 
neither  more  nor  less  than  a  likeness  of 
her  own  face. 


THE   BLOW   FALLS. 


199 


Hugh,  who  was  watching  her  curious- 
ly, saw  that  she  recognized  it  from  the 
flush  that  suddenly  covered  her  cheek 
and  brow.  Without  giving  herself  time 
to  think,  she  turned  toward  him  quickly. 

"  I  thought  you  intended  to  take  Mari- 
ette  for  your  model  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  thought  so,  too,"  he  answered ; 
"hut  when  I  had  painted  her  face — at 
least  its  outline — I  found  that,  however 
lovely  it  might  he,  it  was  not  the  face  of 
the  Duchess  May.  Then  your  face  began 
to  haunt  me  in  connection  with  the  pict- 
ure, until,  at  last,  the  only  escape  from 
the  fascination  was  to  paint  it ;  and  you 
see  the  result." 

"  I  see  that  you  have  succeeded  in 
drawing  my  features,  yet  elevating  them 
to  a  higher  beauty  than  they  possess,  by 
means  of  an  expression  totally  foreign  to 
them,"  she  said.  "  Does  the  result  satisfy 
you  ? " 

"Perfectly!" 

"And  you  could  paint  this  without 
any  sittings  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  need  any  sittings  to 
paint  your  face  ? "  he  asked,  with  a  slight 
smile.  "  Why,  there  is  not  a  line  of  it 
that  I  do  not  know  by  heart — a  fact  not 
very  remarkable,  when  you  consider  that 
you  were  once  my  only  sitter,  and  that  I 
taxed  your  patience  constantly." 

"Don't  do  yourself  injustice,"  said 
she.  "  My  recollection  is,  that  you  were 
considerate  in  that  as  in  everything  else. 
1  am  glad  that  my  face  has  served  you 
once  again" — turning  from  the  picture. 
"I  will  tell  you  why  I  have  come  to 
trouble  you.  It  is  not  with  regard  to 
myself,  but  with  regard  to  Mariette." 

She  looked  at  him  keenly  as  she  ut- 
tered the  last  words;  but  she  failed  to 
see  that  the  expression  of  concern  on  his 
face  deepened  at  all. 

"  Anything  that  I  can  do  for  you,  or 
for  Mariette,  I  will  do  most  willingly," 
he  answered.  "Pray  tell  me,  without 
hesitation,  what  you  desire." 

"  What  I  desire  is — well,  I  suppose  it 
is  advice,"  she  said,  with  a  slight,  irreso- 


lute motion  of  her  hands.  "At  least,  it 
is  nothing  more  definite.  You  know  that 
Mariette  is  engaged  to  Captain  Gresham  ? 
— yes,  of  course  you  know  it.  Tell  me — 
pray,  tell  me  frankly — what  you  think  of 
the  engagement." 

He  was  surprised,  and  his  face  showed 
this  surprise  very  plainly. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "  but  you  have 
surely  forgotten  how  little  I  can  know 
of  the  matter.  It  is  a  brilliant  match,  I 
presume.  I  believe  that  Captain  Gresham 
is  the  eldest  son  of  a  baronet.  I  know 
no  more  of  him  than  that." 

"  I  am  not  talking  of  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Trafford,  "but  of  Mariette.  I  was  not, 
at  the  first,  pleased  with  the  idea  of  the 
engagement.  I  did  not  think  that  she 
cared  enough  for  the  man  whom  she 
thought  of  marrying;  but,  as  time  goes 
on,  I  am  still  less  pleased  or  satisfied.  I 
am  a  close  observer,  and  Mariette's  man- 
ner, of  late,  has  made  me  vaguely  un- 
easy— " 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  and  walked  to 
the  window,  her  silken  skirts  trailing  softly 
over  the  studio-floor,  while  Hugh  watched 
her,  with  the  surprise  deepening  on  his 
face.  In  such  a  matter  as  this,  why 
should  she  come  to  Mm  ? 

After  a  moment's  pause,  she  went  on 
without  turning  round — went  on  in  a 
hurried  voice: 

"  I  may  be  right,  or  I  may  be  wrong, 
in  saying  this  to  you — I  cannot  tell.  But 
Mariette's  manner  gives  me  the  impres- 
sion that  she  is  in  love — and  not  with 
Captain  Gresham." 

"With  whom,  then?"  asked  Hugh, 
now  completely  overmastered  by  aston- 
ishment. 

Mrs.  Trafford  turned,  and,  with  her 
clear,  brilliant  eyes,  looked  full  at 
him. 

"  Do  not  you  know  ?  "  she  asked,  in 
reply.  "I  thought — I  hoped — O  Hugh, 
if  I  have  blundered,  pardon  me.! — but  do 
not  you  care  for  her  ? " 

"  I !  "  For  a  moment  Hugh  could  say 
no  more  than  that;  then,  having  grasped 


200 


AFTER  MANY   DAYS. 


her  meaning,  he  rallied  his  self-possession, 
and  answered :  "  I  care  for  her,  most  un- 
doubtedly, as  an  old  friend  who  knew 
and  loved  her  in  her  bahyhood ;  but  not 
as  a  lover,  Mrs.  Trafford — if  that  is  what 
you  mean." 

"Are  you  sure?"  she  said,  drawing 
nearer  to  him,  and  involuntarily  clasping 
her  hands.  "  Hugh,  don't  suffer  any  false 
pride  to  ruin  your  happiness  and  hers !  I 
have  suspected  from  the  first  that  you 
loved  her ;  and  if  you  do — " 

"You  are  making  a  great  mistake, 
Mrs.  Trafford !  "  Hugh  interposed,  grave- 
ly. "Your  penetration  has  misled  in 
some  unaccountable  manner.  The  affec- 
tion which  I  feel  for  Mariette  now,  is 
exactly  the  same  which  I  felt  for  her 
when  she  was  five  years  old.  The  idea 
of  loving  my  old  playmate  as  a  woman 
has  never  entered  my  imagination — nor 
can  it  now  do  so.  I  acknowledge  her 
loveliness,  and  I  appreciate  her  charms; 
but  my  feeling  toward  her  stops  there. 
Why  should  you  fear  that  I  am  deceiving 
you?"  he  added,  as  she  still  looked  at 
him  doubtfully.  "  Do  you  think  " — and 
here  his  eyes  kindled — "  that,  if  I  loved 
her,  I  would  stand  by  and  not  make  an 
effort  to  win  her  ?  Do  you  fancy  that  I 
should  let  a  duke's  son  claim  her,  if  she 
loved  me  ? " 

Her  eyes  drooped  under  the  flash  of 
his,  and  she  turned  her  face  away. 

"How  could  I  tell?"  she  murmured. 
"  I  thought  that  perhaps  my  wealth  might 
stand  between,  and  that,  if  you  could 
know  how  happy  I  should  be  if  I  could 
benefit  you,  Hugh — " 

"  Stop !  "  he  said,  and  something  in 
his  voice — a  thrill  of  passion  steadily  con- 
trolled— made  her  quiver.  "  Don't  let  us 
enter  upon  an  utterly  useless  discussion ; 
don't  tempt  me  to  tell  you  how  little  I 
could  ever  think  of  benefiting  by  your 
wealth.  The  past  has  been  sealed  to  us 
so  far,  Mrs.  Trafford ;  let  it  remain  sealed 
to  the  end." 

"  Oh,  how  cruel,  how  hard,  how  un- 
forgiving, you  are  !  "  she  cried.  "  What 


have  I  ever  done  to  you,  that  you  should 
treat  me  so  ? " 

"  How  am  I  treating  you  ?  "  he  asked, 
regaining  outward  calmness.  "I  have 
only  assured  you  that  I  am  not,  and  never 
can  be,  your  sister's  lover.  That  assur- 
ance certainly  ought  to  be  a  relief  to 
you,  since  she  is  engaged  to  another 
man  ? " 

"  Instead  of  being  a  relief,  it  is  a  dis- 
appointment," she  said,  slowly.  "  I  can- 
not help  fearing  for  her  future  life,  if  she 
marries  a  man  whom  she  does  not  sin- 
cerely love ;  and  I  hoped  that  she  might 
be  saved  from  such  a  fate  by  you." 

Surely,  if  "  woman's  at  best  a  contra- 
diction still,"  man  is  not  anything  very 
different ;  for,  at  these  words,  Dinsmore's 
brow  clouded,  and  his  resolute  lips  set 
themselves  a  little  more  resolutely  for  an 
instant,  before  he  answered : 

"  You  mean  kindly,  no  doubt,  Mrs. 
Trafford;  but  I  must  repeat  again,  that 
you  have  made  a  great  mistake.  I  wish 
that  I  could  help  you  to  unravel  the  mys- 
tery— if  mystery  it  be — of  Mariette's 
choice ;  but,  unfortunately,  I  am  utterly 
unable  to  do  so." 

"  I  may  be  mistaken  altogether,"  she 
said.  "I  do  not  know;  I  cannot  tell. 
Having  made  one  great  mistake,  I  have 
lost  confidence  in  my  judgment." 

There  was  a  minute's  silence.  The 
afternoon  sunshine  streamed  into  the 
studio,  throwing  a  glory  round  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford's  erect,  stately  figure,  brightening 
the  shining  masses  of  her  hair,  and  mak- 
ing a  picture  on  which  Hugh's  artist-eye 
dwelt  with  an  admiration  beyond  his  con- 
trol. If  he  could  but  fix  it  on  his  can- 
vas, to  live  forever!  That  was  what  he 
thought,  but  what  he  did  not  say.  On 
the  contrary,  when  he  spoke,  his  words 
were  very  different — words  which  he  felt 
actuated  by  some  prophetic  instinct  to 
utter : 

"It  may  seem  an  odd  thing  to  say, 
but,  if  any  emergency  should  arise,  in 
which  I  could  be  of  use,  pray  promise  to 
call  on  me.  Remember  that  I  am  your 


THE  BLOW  FALLS. 


201 


oldest  friend,  and  think  of  me  as  you 
would  think  of  your  brother." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said ;  "  but 
it  is  not  easy  to  see  what  emergency 
could  arise,  or  how  you  could  be  of  use  if 
it  did  arise.  Pray,  forget  my  blunder  as 
soon  as  you  can,"  she  added,  with  a  faint 
smile.  "  I  shall  not  repeat  it.  And  now 
I  will  not  trespass  on  your  time  any 
longer." 

He  did  not  attempt  to  detain  her,  but 
when  he  placed  her  in  her  carrriage  he 
said  again,  earnestly,  "Promise  me  that 
you  will  call  on  me ! "  And  she  an- 
swered, almost  despite  herself: 

"  I  promise — if  there  is  need." 

When  that  promise  was  uttered,  nei- 
ther he  who  asked,  nor  she  who  gave, 
had  any  idea  how  soon  the  need  for 
claiming  it  would  arise.  On  the  second 
day  after  this  visit,  Dinsmore  received 
the  following  note : 

"DEAR  HUGH:  Pray  come  to  me  at 
once !  Something  terrible  has  happened 
— something  so  terrible,  that  I  cannot 
write  of  it ! 

"  Yours,  A.  TKAFFOKD." 

Surprise  and  consternation  were 
equally  balanced  in  Hugh's  mind  when  he 
read  this.  Something  terrible — some- 
thing so  terrible  that  she  could  not  write 
of  it !  What  on  earth  had  occurred  ? 
All  manner  of  doubts  and  fears  took  pos- 
session of  him.  He  called  a  cab,  prom- 
ised the  driver  a  double  fare  to  take  him 
as  quickly  as  possible  to  Mrs.  Trafford 's 
house,  and,  when  he  arrived  there,  was 
ushered  without  delay  into  that  lady's 
presence. 

She  came  to  meet  him,  so  pale,  so 
altered  from  the  blooming  beauty  of  only 
two  days  before,  that  he  might  have  fan- 
cied she  had  just  arisen  from  a  severe 
attack  of  illness. 

But  the  change  in  her  manner  was 
even  greater  than  the  change  in  her  face. 
She  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  said, 
like  one  who  speaks  mechanically: 

"  It  is  good  of  you  to  come ;  but  I 


thought,  after  sending,  that  it  was  useless 
to  trouble  you,  for  there  is  nothing  to  be 
done." 

"Let  me  judge  of  that,"  he  said, 
eagerly.  "Tell  me  what  has  happened 
— what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"Have  you  not  heard? "she  asked. 
"Ah,  I  forgot!  I  did  not  tell  you — and 
Heaven  help  me! "  The  words  came 
through  her  lips  with  an  absolute  gasp. 
"  How  can  I  tell  you !  " 

"  Does  it  concern  Mariette  ?  "  he 
asked  ;  for  his  mind  had  at  once  recurred 
to  their  conversation  of  two  days  be- 
fore. 

"Yes,  it  concerns  Mariette,"  she  an- 
i  swered ;  and  then  she  burst  into  tears. 

Poor  Hugh  felt  as  helpless  and  dis- 
tressed as  a  man  of  his  order  usually  feels 
in  presence  of  a  woman's  tears — especial- 
ly the  tears  of  such  genuine,  passionate 
grief  as  this.  He  was  sorely  perplexed. 
He  felt  that  the  trouble  must  indeed  be 
of  a  very  sei'ious  nature;  but  he  was 
more  and  more  puzzled  to  imagine  what 
it  could  be.  Knowing  that  the  greatest 
kindness  he  could  show  Mrs.  Trafford 
was  to  give  her  time  to  recover  herself, 
he  placed  her  gently  in  the  chair  from 
which  she  had  risen  at  his  entrance,  and 
turned  away. 

In  doing  so,  he  struck  a  small  table 
near  by,  and  almost  upset  it.  As  he 
caught  it,  a  letter  fell  to  the  ground,  and, 
when  he  stooped  for  it,  Mrs.  Trafford 
commanded  her  voice  sufficiently  to  say  : 

"Bead  it." 

He  needed  no  second  invitation,  but, 
walking  to  one  of  the  windows,  he  opened 
and  read  the  letter,  which  he  saw  at  a 
glance  was  signed  with  Mariette's  name. 

"MY'DEAB  AMY:  You  have,  of  late, 
laid  so  much  stress  upon  your  desire  that 
I  should  marry  the  man  I  love,  that  I  am 
sure  you  will  be  glad  to  learn  that  I  have 
decided  to  do  so.  Will  you  be  surprised 
to  hear  that  this  man  is  your  old  friend 
Mr.  Marchmont?  I  am  afraid  you  will 
not  be  pleased,  and,  to  avoid  anything 
disagreeable — for  Mr.  Marchmont  and 
myself  both  dislike  disagreeable  things 


202 


AFTER   MANY   DAYS. 


extremely — we  have  decided  to  go  over 
to  the  Continent  to  be  married.  I  will 
write  full  particulars  in  a  few  days,  and 
give  you  our  address.  Won't  you  join 
us  when  the  season  ends,  and  you  have 
quite  disposed  of  all  your  admirers  ?  Trou- 
ville,  for  a  while,  would  be  pleasant ;  but 
we  can  discuss  all  this  at  length  after  the 
ceremony.  I  inclose  a  letter  for  Captain 
Gresham.  Pray  make  my  excuses  as 
gracefully  as  you  can.  The  fact  is,  that 
he  is  so  heavy  he  tires  me  to  death.  But 
you  need  not  mention  this. 

"Adieu,  dear!  It  shall  not  be  long 
before  you  hear  again  from  your  most 
affectionate 

"  MAEIETTE." 

That  was  all.  Not  another  line,  not 
another  word.  Hugh  stood  for  a  minute 
as  if  stunned;  then  he  crushed  the  letter 
forcibly  together  in  his  hand,  as  he  ut- 
tered one  passionate  word — 

"Ingrate!" 

"  I  do  not  think  of — I  do  not  care  for 
that !  "  said  Mrs.  Trafford.  "  But  think  of 
the  wretchedness  which  is  before  her !  Do 
you  understand  that  this  is  that  villain's 
mode  of  striking  me?  "When  we  had 
our  final  explanation — when  he  dared  to 
speak  to  me  of  love,  and  I  laughed  in  his 
face — he  told  me  that  scores  were  not 
settled  between  us  yet ;  and  I — blind  fool 
that  I  was! — defied  him  to  injure  me 
again.  This  is  his  answer.  O  Hugh ! 
Hugh !  is  there  no  way  to  save  her,  even 
yet?" 

"Stop  a  moment — let  me  think,"  said 
Hugh.  "  I  can  hardly  realize  it.  If  you 
feared  anything  like '  this,  why  did  you 
not  tell  me  of  it  two  days  ago  ?  " 

"Fear  anything  like  this!  "Why,  I 
never  dreamed  of  it!  How  could  I?  They 
had  never  met,  to  my  knowledge,  since 
last  they  met  in  this  house.  I  never 
thought  of  him ;  I  had  no  reason  to  do 
so.  But  I  thought  of  you,  because  I 
could  not  connect  the  change  in  Mariette 
with  any  one  else.  After  leaving  you,  I 
believed  that  I  had  been  wholly  mistaken 
until  this  morning.  She  left  the  house 
before  I  rose ;  and  several  hours  later, 
when  I  began  to  feel  anxious,  her  maid 
brought  me  this  letter,  which  she  pro- 


fessed to  have  just  found.  "Well !  " — an- 
other long,  gasping  breath — "I  did  not 
faint.  I  believe  one  never  does  when 
one  feels  most.  But  the  blow  crushed 
me — as  he  meant  that  it  should!  My 
whole  heart  has  been  bound  up  in  her. 
I  could  not  tell  you,  if  I  would,  all  that  I 
have  hoped  and  planned:  how  I  meant 
that  her  youth  should  be  as  bright  and 
happy  as  mine  was  not,  and  that  love 
should  be  the  blessing — not  the  curse — 
of  her  life.  And  now  she  is  the  tool  by 
which  that  man  takes  his  revenge  on  me ! 
O  Hugh,  can  I  do  nothing — nothing  to 
save  her? " 

As  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and, 
in  the  intensity  of  her  appeal,  lifted  her 
pallid  face  toward  his,  Hugh's  heart,  al- 
ways easily  touched  by  suffering  of  any 
kind,  melted  into  tenderness,  such  as  he 
had  never  thought  to  feel  for  her  again. 
All  his  barriers  of  pride  and  reserve  were 
suddenly  broken  down.  He  compre- 
hended that,  beneath  the  worldly  exterior 
which  he  had  so  unsparingly  condemned, 
the  power  of  devoted,  unselfish  love  re- 
mained ;  and,  for  the  first  time  since  their 
renewal  of  intercourse,  he  looked  at  her 
and  listened  to  her  without  being  haunted 
by  the  thought  that  what  he  saw  was  act- 
ing— not  reality. 

"  I  would  do  anything  to  save  her — 
for  your  sake,"  he  said.  "Honestly,  I 
have  lost  all  desire  to  make  such  an  effort 
for  her  own ;  but  that  does  not  matter. 
The  question  is,  Can  she  be  saved?  " 

"It  is  a  question  I  cannot  answer," 
Mrs.  Trafford  said.  "  I  seem  to  have  lost 
all  power  of  thinking  coolly ;  but — she  is 
under  age,  you  know." 

"Ah!"  he  said,  quickly.  "That 
would  be  your  best  hope,  if  it  were  only 
possible  to  meet  them  before  the  mar- 
riage takes  place.  Have  you  the  faintest 
idea  where  they  have  gone  ?  She  speaks 
indefinitely  of  the  Continent." 

" I  have  not  the  least  idea;  but  I  fan- 
cy, from  her  allusion  to  Tronville  that 
they  have  gone  to  Paris." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  reflectively,  "  to  Paris, 


"  CHECKMATED— BY  FATE." 


203 


most  probably ;  but  I  may  be  able  to  dis- 
cover something  with  regard  to  their 
destination  by  making  inquiries  at  the 
Langham  Hotel.  Marchmont  may  have 
dropped  some  allusion — " 

"  Pray  do  not  let  this  be  known !  "  she 
pleaded,  eagerly.  "I  shrink — oh!  you 
cannot  imagine  how  I  shrink — from  the 
thought  of  its  being  canvassed  !  " 

"You  may  trust  me  to  say  nothing 
that  will  raise  even  a  suspicion,"  he  said, 
gently.  "  All  that  I  mean  to  do  is  to 
learn  where  they  have  gone.  There 
seems  hardly  a  chance  of  your  gaining 
anything  by  following;  but  if  any  acci- 
dent should  detain  them — if  the  marriage 
should  be  delayed  by  any  technicality  such 
as  might  arise — you  would  be  in  time  to 
interfere.  There  is  a  shadow  of  hope — 
no  more.  Are  you  willing  to  act  on 
that  ?  " 

"How  can  you  ask  me?", she  said, 
with  a  feverish  color  rising  into  her  face. 
"  I  would  act  on  the  shadow  of  a  shadow ! 
If  you  say  so,  I  will  start  for  Paris  in  half 
an  hour." 

"  I  don't  say  so.  I  must  have  some 
certainty  about  their  destination  before 
you  can  think  of  starting.  I  will  go  at 
once  to  the  Langham  Hotel ;  and  do  you, 
meanwhile,  prepare  for  a  journey.  Take 
care  of  your  strength,  for  you  may  need 
it,  and  keep  courage.  All  is  not  lost 
while  the  faintest  hope  remains." 

"  How  glad  I  am  that  I  sent  for  you !  " 
she  said.  "How  much  good  you  have 
done  me!  I  was  despairing  when  you 
came,  and  now  I  feel  a  gleam  of  hope. 
O  Hugh  \  if  I  can  only  save  her  !  " 

"And  baffle  him!  "  said  Hugh,  with  a 
flash  like  unsheathed  steel  in  his  eyes. 
"God  grant  we  may  do  both!  Now 
there  is  no  more  time  to  talk.  We 
must  act!  Prepare  for  your  journey, 
while  I  go  and  make  an  effort  to  find  the 
right  track." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  CHECKMATED — BY   FATE." 

IT  seemed  to  Dinsmore  a  stroke  of 
luck  that,  on  the  pavement  in  front  of 
the  Langham  Hotel,  he  chanced  to  meet 
Eeade,  who  had  just  left  Nelly  Paget, 
and  was  therefore  able  to  give  him  all 
the  information  he  was  likely  to  obtain 
with  regard  to  Marchmont.  The  news  of 
Mnriette's  elopement  had  not,  of  course, 
reached  the  Pagets;  but  they  had  ex- 
pressed considerable  surprise  at  March- 
mont's  return  to  the  Continent,  since  he 
had  avowedly  left  it  with  the  intention 
of  accompanying  them  to  America. 

"I  don't  think  they  are  grieved  by 
his  change  of  purpose,"  Eeade  added ; 
"  but  it  seems  odd.  Nelly  has  just  sug- 
gested that  perhaps  the  beautiful  widow 
is  at  the  bottom  of  it." 

"At  the  bottom  of  it,  in  a  certain 
sense,  she  undoubtedly  is !  "  said  Dins- 
more,  grimly.  "Now,  can  you  tell  me 
— I  have  a  special  reason  for  asking — 
whether  the  fellow  gave  any  intimation 
of  where  he  was  going  first? " 

Reade  looked  a  little  surprised,  but 
was  too  well-bred  to  express  the  senti- 
ment. 

"  I  think  he  was  going  first  to  Paris," 
he  answered.  "  At  least,  I  heard  Mrs. 
Paget  say  that  he  mentioned  something 
of  the  kind,  or  something  which  implied 
an  intention  of  the  kind." 

"  You  are  sure  of  it? " 

"  Sure  that  he  said  so  ?  Yes,  perfectly 
sure." 

"  That  is  all  I  want.  Thank  you,  and 
good-morning.  At  another  time  I'll  ex- 
plain." 

He  hailed  a  cab  as  he  spoke,  sprang 
in,  and  drove  off,  before  Reade  could 
utter  a  word.  The  latter  gazed  after  the 
vanishing  vehicle  for  a  moment  in  mute 
astonishment ;  then  he  turned  away,  and, 
with  a  low  whistle,  said  to  himself: 

"  There's  something  mysterious  here ! 


204 


AFTER  MANY  DATS. 


I  am  afraid  that,  despite  all  his  protesta- 
tions, Dinsmore  has  fallen  into  the  toils 
of  the  enchanting  Mrs.  Trafford.  But 
what  has  he  to  do  with  Marchmont?  I 
must  go  and  see  if  Nelly  can  throw  any 
light  on  the  affair." 

While  he  promptly  carried  this  reso- 
lution into  execution,  Dinsmore  returned 
to  Mrs.  Trafford  and  told  her  what  he 
had  learned ;  adding  that,  in  his  opinion, 
it  would  be  well  to  go  over  to  Paris,  even 
though  she  should  gain  nothing  by  doing 
so.  "  You  will  have  made  an  effort  which 
will  set  your  mind  at  rest,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  yes  —  yes  !  "  she  answered. 
"Anything  is  better  than  idly  to  stay 
here.  Pardon  me  if  I  ask  your  advice 
on  one  more  subject:  What  shall  I  do 
about  the  letter  to  Captain  Gresham  ?  " 

"Keep  it,"  he  answered,  promptly. 
"Don't  let  the  story  be  known  sooner 
than  you  can  help.  It  is  a  forlorn  hope, 
but,  if  we  can  reach  her  in  time,  we  may 
save  her." 

"  We  cannot  save  her  from  a  scandal : 
that  must  be,  in  any  event." 

"  It  shall  not  be !  "  said  Hugh ;  and 
again  the  steel-like  flash  came  into  his 
eyes.  "  There  are  ways  of  making  that 
dastard  hold  his  tongue — and  no  one  else 
knows  of  the  elopement.  Control  your- 
self ;  tell  the  servants  that  you  are  called 
away  on  business;  and  do  not  take  a 
maid  with  you." 

Even  in  the  midst  of  her  distress,  Mrs. 
Trafford  looked  a  little  dismayed  at  this. 

"  I  have  never  made  a  journey  alone," 
she  said ;  "  but  if  you  think  it  neces- 
sary— " 

"  Alone !  "  he  repeated.  "  Surely,  you 
know  that  I  am  going  with  you  ?  " 

Tears  sprang  quickly  into  the  eyes 
which  she  lifted  to  his. 

"How  kind  you  are!  "  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice.  "I  do  not  know  how  to 
thank  you !  " 

"You  must  not  think  of  thanking 
me,"  he  said.  "  Be  ready  to  start  in 
half  an  hour — that  is  all." 

It  seemed  to  Amy  Trafford  like  a 


dream,  when,  an  hour  later,  she  found 
herself  in  a  railway  -  carriage  rushing 
toward  Dover,  with  Hugh  for  a  compan- 
ion. What  a  strange  turn  of  events  was 
this,  which  had  brought  them  together 
again  in  their  old  friendly  relations !  De- 
spite all  that  she  was  suffering — all  her 
racking  grief  and  anxiety — there  was  a 
sense  of  repose  and  relief  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  companionship  and  pro- 
tection. 

Some  men  have  a  peculiar  faculty  of 
inspiring  this  feeling  of  reliance — this 
absolute  trust  in  their  capability  of  pro- 
tecting all  persons  and  interests  under 
their  care ;  and  Dinsmore,  though  one  of 
the  most  quiet,  least  self-asserting  of  men, 
possessed  it  in  an  extreme  degree. 

During  the  railway  -  journey  they 
talked  little,  for  both  were  oppressed  by 
the  uncertainty  of  what  lay  before  them ; 
but,  when  they  found  themselves  on  board 
the  Calais  boat,  they  had,  in  a  measure, 
become  accustomed  to  the  situation,  and 
it  was  a  relief  from  tormenting  thought 
to  converse  on  subjects  altogether  apart 
from  the  one  subject  which  harassed  them. 

Almost  unconsciously  Mrs.  Trafford 
found  herself  speaking  of  her  married  life, 
and  describing  to  Hugh — who  listened 
with  more  interest  than  he  would  have 
believed  possible — many  of  its  incidents 
and  scenes.  But  that  on  which  she  prin- 
cipally dwelt,  with  a  simplicity  full  of 
truth  and  pathos,  was  the  generous  kind- 
ness of  the  husband  who  had  taken  far 
more  the  place  of  father  than  of  husband 
to  her. 

As  he  listened,  Hugh  seemed  to  under- 
stand her  story  better  than  he  had  ever 
done  before,  and  it  was  borne  to  him  with 
the  force  of  a  revelation  that  she  had 
acted  wisely  and  well  in  making  the  mar- 
riage for  which  he  had  always  in  his 
heart  reproached  her. 

"How  often  we  are  presumptuous 
fools,  without  knowing  it! "  he  said, 
abruptly,  as  this  thought  pressed  upon 
him.  "I  am  ashamed  to  think  of  the 
manner  in  which  I  once  ventured  to  ar- 


CHECKMATED— BY   FATE.' 


205 


raign  you  for  your  intention  of  marrying 
Mr.  Trafford ;  and  still  more  ashamed  to 
consider  that  years  did  not  teach  me  more 
wisdom.  A  month  ago  I  still  classed  you 
among  women  who  sell  their  hearts  to  the 
bondage  of  a  mercenary  marriage ;  though 
I  should  have  known — " 

"  You  should  have  known  that  I  had 
no  heart  to  sell,"  she  said,  with  a  slightly 
sad  and  bitter  smile.  "  Love  was  dead  to 
me — at  least,  so  I  thought  then;  but  in 
my  desolate  position,  my  undisciplined 
youth,  I  needed  a  protector  above  all 
things,  and  God  sent  one  to  me,  in  the 
person  of  the  best  and  kindest  friend  that 
ever  woman  had." 

.  There  was  silence  after  this  for  a  time, 
and  neither  of  them  ever  forgot  the  scene 
around  them — the  wide  expanse  of  sea 
silvered  with  a  flood  of  moonlight;  the 
deck  with  its  scattered  groups  here  and 
there ;  the  vessel  throbbing  and  rocking 
after  the  manner  of  steamers ;  above  all, 
the  ever-recurring  consciousness  of  the 
novelty  and  strangeness  of  their,  posi- 
tion. 

On  landing  at  Calais,  they  found  the 
train  for  Paris  just  starting;  and,  after 
they  had  taken  their  places,  Dinsmore 
left  Mrs.  Trafford  for  a  moment.  When 
he  returned,  his  face  was  grave  and  pale 
with  a  new  gravity  and  pallor ;  but  the 
light  was  dim,  and  Mrs.  Trafford  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  the  exhaustion  consequent 
on  her  day  of  excitement,  so  the  fact  es- 
caped her  attention,  and,  a  few  minutes 
later,  the  train  started. 

"Try  to  sleep,"  he  said,  piling  shawls 
and  cushions  around  her ;  and,  though  she 
felt,  at  first,  that  this  was  impossible,  she 
presently  dropped  asleep  from  sheer  fa- 
tigue, and  lay  unconscious,  while  the 
lamp-light  shone  on  her  face  with  its  chis- 
eled features,  and  the  long  lashes  swept 
her  marble-like  cheeks. 

Dinsmore  sat  alternately  watching  this 
face  and  the  moonlit  country  with  ghostly 
trees  and  houses  flitting  by.  His  mind 
was  possessed  with  a  variety  of  thoughts ; 
but,  through  all  their  vagaries,  his  feat- 


ures never  lost  the  look  of  new  gravity 
which  they  had  acquired  at  Calais. 

The  hours  went  on.  At  the  stations, 
now  and  then,  Mrs.  Trafford  stirred  a  lit- 
tle, but  did  not  rouse  herself  until  his 
hand  touched  her.  Then  she  opened  her 
eyes  quickly. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  for  the 
train  was  slackening  speed.  "  Paris  al- 
ready ?  " 

"No,  not  Paris — Amiens,"  he  an- 
swered. "  I  think  it  best  to  stop  here 
for  a  few  hours.  I  will  tell  you  why, 
presently." 

She  glanced  at  him  in  surprise;  but 
his  quiet,  composed  manner  put  objection 
out  of  the  question,  and  she  only  said : 

"I  am  satisfied  to  do  whatever  you 
think  best,  provided  that  you  do  not 
wish  to  stop  because  you  think  I  need 
rest." 

"It  is  not  on  that  account  at  all,"  he 
answered;  and,  as  he  spoke,  the  train 
rushed  into  the  station. 

The  next  thing  which  Mrs.  Trafford — 
who  was  a  little  bewildered  —  clearly 
knew,  she  was  in  ajiacre,  rattling  through 
various  narrow  streets,  on  one  side  of 
which  the  moonlight  poured,  revealing 
the  tall,  foreign  houses,  that  had  to  her  a 
very  familiar  aspect. 

"  Why  are  we  stopping  here,  Hugh  ? " 
she  asked,  in  her  perplexity. 

But  Hugh  only  answered :  "  Have  pa- 
tience. Wait  a  short  time,  and  you  shall 
know." 

The  hotel  at  which  they  presently 
alighted  bore  as  cheerless  an  aspect  as  ho- 
tels usually  do  in  the  hours  between  mid- 
night and  dawning.  Nevertheless,  they 
were  speedily  shown  to  comfortable 
apartments ;  and,  when  Dinsmore  parted 
with  Mrs.  Trafford,  he  said : 

"Pray  endeavor  to  rest.  To-morrow 
morning  you  shall  hear  the  cause  of  this 
delay." 

"  Why  should  I  not  hear  it  now  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Because  I  am  not  certain  with  re- 
gard to  it,"  he  replied.  "  Trust  me,  and 


206 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


believe  that  I  shall  not  be  idle  while  you 
sleep." 

"I  could  not  believe  that  you  would 
ever  be  idle  while  your  friends  were 
to  be  served!  "  she  said,  giving  him  her 
hand. 

The  soft  pressure  lingered  with  him 
like  a  benediction  after  the  door  had 
closed  upon  her,  and  he  went  his  way — 
but  not  to  sleep.  There  were  inquiries 
to  be  made  without  loss  of  time,  doubts 
to  be  solved,  and  suspicions  to  be  veri- 
fied. 

Having  as  it  were,  shifted  her  care  to 
Dinsmore's  shoulders,  Mrs.  Trafford  slept 
for  the  remainder  of  the  night ;  and,  when 
she  opened  her  eyes,  the  sunlight  was 
lying  in  bars  of  gold  on  the  floor  of  her 
chamber.  For  a  moment  her  strange  sur- 
roundings puzzled  her ;  then  the  memory 
of  all  that  had  occurred  flashed  upon  her, 
and,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  she  extended  her 
hand  and  rang  the  bell. 

The  servant  who  answered  it  carried 
in  her  hand  a  tray  on  which  was  arranged 
a  very  dainty  breakfast.  It  was  brought 
by  monsieur's  orders,  she  said,  and,  after 
madame  had  breakfasted  and  made  her 
toilet,  monsieur  awaited  her  in  the  saloon 
adjoining  her  apartment. 

This  information  was  sufficient  to 
hasten  madame's  movements.  She  drank 
a  cup  of  cafe  au  lait,  and  forced  herself  to 
eat  a  bit  of  bread ;  then  her  toilet  was 
hurriedly  made,  and  she  opened  the  door 
leading  into  the  salon. 

Dinsmore,  who  was  standing  by  one 
of  the  windows,  turned,  and  came  for- 
ward to  meet  her. 

"  I  hope  you  slept  well,"  he  said,  look- 
ing, with  an  expression  of  concern,  at  her 
pale,  eager  face. 

"Yes,  I  slept  very  well,"  she  an- 
swered. "  I  don't  know  how  I  could,  un- 
less it  was  because  I  felt  that  you  were 
awake,  and  working.  Now,  tell  me  if 
you  have  any  news." 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said,  drawing  a  chair 
forward  and  placing  her  in  it.  "You 


shall  hear  why  I  stopped  here,  and  what 
I  have  gained  by  stopping.  Do  you  re- 
member that,  after  putting  you  in  the 
train  at  Calais,  I  left  you  for  a  few  min- 
utes? Well,  during  those  few  minutes  I 
learned  that  there  had  been  a  terrible  ac- 
cident on  the  line  earlier  in  the  day,  and 
twenty  or  thirty  people  had  been  killed 
and  wounded." 

She  uttered  a  cry,  her  face  blanching 
to  the  whiteness  of  snow. 

"•  Great  Heavens !  "  s"he  said.  "  Mari- 
ette!" 

"  Be  tranquil,"  he  said,  gently.  "  Mari- 
ette  is  unhurt.  I  know  that  now,  but  I 
did  not  know  it  then,  and  I  was  very  un- 
easy. I  could  not  obtain  any  list  of  names, 
but  was  told  that  the  victims  of  the  catas- 
trophe were  all  at  Amiens ;  and  the  only 
thing  to  be  done  to  set  anxiety  at  rest, 
therefore,  was  to  stop  here.  If  I  had 
found  no  trace  of  them,  we  should  have 
gone  on  to  Paris  two  hours  later;  but — I 
have  found  a  trace." 

She  gazed  at  him  so  eagerly,  that  the 
breath  seemed  hushed  on  her  parted  lips. 

"Are  they  here?"  she  asked.  "Is 
that  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  mean,"  he  answered, 
quietly.  "I  have  seen  them.  Mariette, 
as  I  have  said,  is  unhurt,  but  Marchmont 
is  fatally  injured." 

The  words  were  deliberately  spoken, 
but  she  heard  them  with  a  sense  of  unre- 
ality which  it  is  impossible  to  describe. 
Fatally  injured !  It  seemed  incredible 
that  the  visitation  of  God  had  fallen  on 
the  man  in  his  pride  and  strength,  just  as 
he  was  about  to  strike  the  second  blow 
which  had  fallen  from  his  hand  upon  her ! 
Ten  minutes  before,  she  would  have  cried 
out  that  any  means  which  would  remove 
him  forever  from  her  path  of  life  would 
be  welcome ;  but  now  she  felt  awed  into 
silence  by  this  unexpected  fulfillment  of 
her  desire. 

"  Will  he  die  ?  "  she  asked,  presently. 

"  There  is  no  hope  whatever ;  he  will 
certainly  die,"  Dinsmore  answered.  "I 
found  Mariette  with  him,  and  I  have  not 


"  CHECKMATED— BY  FATE." 


207 


undeceived  her  with  regard  to  his  sincer- 
ity. It  seemed  useless  to  do  so.  The 
knot  is  cut — she  will  never  marry  him." 

u  Mariette  must  have  been  greatly  sur- 
prjsed  to  see  you  ? " 

"  She  was  very  much  surprised,  and, 
I  think,  was  very  glad.  She  met  me  with  ' 
a  cry  of  welcome  and  relief.  The  shock, 
the  terror,  and  her  strange  position,  have, 
I  believe,  altogether  cured  her  romance. 
I  told  her  that  you  were  here,  and  she 
would  have  corrfe  to  you,  but  that  she 
shrank  from  leaving  the  dying  man." 

"  I  will  go  to  her  at  once,"  said  Mrs. 
Trafford,  rising.  "  She  must  not  be  left 
in  that  position  alone.  O  Hugh,  I  thank 
you  from  my  heart  for  having  been  wise 
enough  to  stop  here!  What  should  I 
have  done  without  you?  " 

A  few  minutes  later,  they  were  driv- 
ing to  an  hotel  near  the  railroad,  where 
Marchmont,  together  with  some  of  the 
other  victims  of  the  catastrophe,  had  been 
taken. 

Dinsmore  led  his  companion  straight 
to  a  salon  adjoining  the  apartment  in 
which  lay  the  dying  man,  and  left  her 
there  while  he  entered  the  room  beyond. 
He  had  hardly  been  gone  a  moment,  when, 
from  the  door  through  which  he  had  dis- 
appeared, Mariette  entered  and  rushed 
toward  her  sister,  like  a  child  seeking 
shelter.  Before  Mrs.  Trafford  could  utter 
a  word,  the  eager  arms  were  round  her, 
the  golden  head  resting  on  her  shoulder. 

u  O  Amy,  how  good  of  you  to  come !  " 
she  sobbed.  "Oh,  can  you  forgive  me? 
Oh,  what  must  you  think  of  me !  I  began 
to  realize  what  I  had  done  when  that 
awful  accident  came.  Oh,  if  I  had  been 
killed,  and  had  never  seen  you  again !  " 

"  Thank  God,  you  are  safe ! "  said 
Mrs.  Trafford,  sobbing  in  turn ;  and  so 
the  two  clung  together,  and  kissed  each 
other,  while  further  words  were  useless 
to  tell  their  joy  on  being  together  again. 

"  Oh,  I  have  felt  so  lost — so  fright- 
ened !  "  said  Mariette.  "  When  Hugh 
came,  his  face  seemed  to  me  like  the  face 
of  an  angel !  When  he  told  me  of  your 


anxiety,  I — I  was  so  very  sorry !  I  did 
not  know — I  did  not  think  what  I  was 
doing,  Amy.  I  should  like  you  to  believe 
that." 

"  I  do  believe  it ! "  said  Amy,  and 
paused.  She  was  about  to  add,  "I  thank 
God  for  your  rescue."  But  she  suddenly 
felt  that  it  was  impossible  to  thank  him 
that  a  fellow-creature,  however  great  his 
guilt,  was  dying  near  by  in  agony. 

"  We  will  talk  of  that  another  time,1' 
she  said,  with  a  slight  shudder.  "  Tell 
me  about  the  accident.  How  did  you 
escape?" 

"  By  the  mercy  of  God  !  "  answered 
Mariette.  "  There  was  no  other  possible 
reason  why  I  should  have  been  spared 
where  others  perished.  It  was  horrible !  " 
— she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
"I  shall  never  forget  it!  I  think  the 
scene  will  haunt  me  as  long  as  I  live. 
Then,  there  was  yesterday  and  last  night. 
Oh,  when  Hugh  came  to  me,"  she  said, 
again,  "I  was  so  grateful,  that  I  could 
have  knelt  to  him!  " 

Hugh  entered  the  room  as  she  spoke, 
and  walked  gravely  up  to  them. 

"  That  unhappy  man  has  not  many 
minutes  to  live,"  he  said,  "  and  he  wishes 
to  see — both  of  you." 
•    Mrs.  Trafford  shrank  back  with  a  visi- 
ble repugnance. 

"  He  cannot  wish  to  see  me !  "  she  said. 

"  He  does  wish  to  see  you,"  Hugh  an- 
swered ;  "  and  you  cannot  refuse  to  go." 

She  felt  that  he  was  right ;  she  could 
not  refuse  to  go,  let  Marchmont's  reason 
for  the  request  be  what  it  might.  Al- 
most unconsciously,  she  laid  her  hand  on 
Dinsmore's  arm,  and  so  they  entered  the 
room  together. 

The  dying  man,  whose  life  was  passing 
away  in  shuddering  gasps,  lifted  his  eyes 
and  saw  them.  At  that  moment  he  did 
not  see  the  face  of  his  promised  bride, 
who  was  beside  him ;  his  glance  passed 
over  her,  to  rest  on  the  woman  whom  ho 
had  loved,  forgotten,  loved  again,  hated, 
and  tried  to  injure.  She  paused  at  the 
foot  of  his  couch  and  looked  steadily  at 


208 


AFTER  MANY   DAYS. 


him — her  large,  brilliant  eyes  full  of  a 
solemn  sadness. 

"  Believe  me,  Brian  Marchmont,"  she 
said,  slowly,  "I  am  sorry  that  we  should 
meet  again  like  this." 

He  did  not  answer  at  once ;  the  breath 
was  drawn  once  or  twice  with  a  gasping 
sound  between  his  white  lips  before  the 
sentence  dropped  from  them : 

"  Checkmated— by  Fate !  " 

That  was  all.  These  three  words  em- 
bodied his  death-bed  commentary  on  the 
failure  which  his  life  had  proved,  and  he 
spoke  no  others.  Whether  he  had  meant 
to  say  more  in  sending  for  Amy  Trafford, 
or  whether  he  simply  wished  to  look  on 
her  face,  can  never  be  known. 

A  change,  like  no  other  of  mortality, 
came  over  his  countenance  a  minute  later, 
and  Hugh,  turning  to  his  companion, 
whispered : 

"  The  end  is  at  hand.  Take  Mariette 
away." 

The  end  was  indeed  at  hand !  While 
Mariette,  resisting  her  sister's  touch, 
threw  herself  on  her  knees,  the  head  fell 
back,  a  strong  shiver  shook  the  mangled 
frame,  and  the  nurse  said,  "  He  is  dead !  " 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
"AFTEE  LONG  GEIEF  AND  PAIN." 

THE  horror  of  this  tragical  end  to  her 
brief  romance  was  too  much  for  Mariette. 
Excitement  culminated  in  illness,  and  for 
many  days  she  lay  in  feverish  stupor  al- 
ternated by  feverish  delirium.  As  soon 
as  she  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  be 
removed,  Mrs.  Trafford  carried  her  to  a 
quiet  sea-side  town  in  Normandy,  and 
there  they  spent  the  summer. 

When  the  girl  was  able  to  hear  the 
truth  respecting  the  unhappy  man  who 
had  perished,  it  was  told  to  her  kindly 
and  gently — far  too  kindly  and  gently  for 
her  to  dream  of  doubting  it.  As  Hugh 
had  said,  her  fancy  had  already  died  as 


quickly  as  it  began ;  but  she  shuddered  to 
think  how  near  she  had  come  to  wrecking 
her  life.  Eealizing  this,  and  realizing, 
also,  that  but  for  her  folly  Marchmont 
would  be  alive,  her  remorse  was  very 
keen,  and  for  a  time  a  depression  which 
was  almost  morbid  weighed  upon  her. 

As  she  recovered  health  and  strength, 
however,  this  feeling  disappeared,  though 
it  was  evident  to  Mrs.  Trafford  that  an 
impression  had  been  made  on  her  char- 
acter which  it  would  never  lose.  The 
nymph-like  joy ousness  had  vanished  from 
her  face ;  the  knowledge  of  evil  as  well  as 
of  good,  of  pain  as  well  as  of  pleasure, 
had  set  its  signet  on  the  fair  features 
and  given  a  new  expression  to  the  violet 
eyes. 

The  engagement  with  Captain  Gresh- 
am  was  dissolved  by  her  own  act.  No 
rumor  of  scandal  had  gone  abroad,  no 
knowledge  of  her  elopement  had  trans- 
pired; but  as  soon  as  she  could  hold  a 
pen  she  had  written — a  very  different  let- 
ter from  that  which  Mrs.  Trafford  had 
suppressed — setting  the  young  man  free. 

He  did  not  appreciate  the  kindness, 
but,  indignant  and  aggrieved,  started  at 
once  and  made  his  unexpected  appearance 
in  the  quaint  little  sea-side  town. 

It  was  impossible  to  deny  his  right  to 
an  explanation;  and  Mariette,  pale,  but 
very  composed,  said  to  her  sister: 

"  I  shall  tell  him  the  whole  truth." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  is  necessary,"  Mrs. 
Trafford  answered.  "Simply  tell  him 
that  you  do  not  and  cannot  love  him. 
That  will  be  enough." 

"  I  do  not  feel  as  if  it  will  be  enough," 
the  girl  said.  "I  have  treated  him  so 
shamefully,  that  it  will  be  some  amende 
to  be  perfectly  frank — to  let  him  know 
how  little  I  am  worth  regretting." 

The  woman  of  the  world  shook  her 
head. 

"  When  you  are  older,"  she  said,  "  you 
will  know  that  nothing  is  more  useless 
than  to  publish  any  fact  to  your  own  dis- 
credit. In  this  matter  you  must  follow 
your  own  judgment ;  but  I  warn  you  that 


;  AFTER   LONG   GRIEF  AND  PAIN.' 


209 


it  will  be  better  to  say  no  more  than  you 
are  forced  to  say." 

Perhaps  it  was  not  strange  that  Mari- 
ette  did  not  follow  this  advice.  She  was 
young,  she  was  impulsive,  she  was  re- 
morseful; so  she  told  Stamer  Gresham 
everything.  To  say  that  he  was  deeply 
shocked,  gives  only  a  faint  idea  of  what 
he  felt;  but,  if  he  was  not  brilliant  in 
mind,  he  was  a  thorough  gentleman  in  na- 
ture, and  he  uttered  no  word  of  reproach. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  have  annoyed  you 
with  this  visit,"  he  said,  after  a  short, 
troubled  silence.  "  I  ought  to  have  been 
content  with  what  you  wrote  me;  but  I 
did  not  know — I  did  not  suspect — any- 
thing like  this." 

"How  could  you?"  said  Mariette, 
with  her  golden  head  bent.  "I  have 
acted  shamefully,  and — and  I  tell  you  of 
it  in  order  that  you  may  be  glad  that  our 
engagement  is  ended.  I  do  not  care  if 
you  let  all  the-  world  know  how  and  why 
the  engagement  was  broken  off.  I  de- 
serve it." 

"  You  need  not  fear  that,"  he  said.  "  I 
shall  not  even  tell  my  mother  anything 
more  than  that  you  cannot  love  me. 
That  is  surely  enough.  I  do  not  deny 
that  this  is  an  awful  blow  to  me,"  the 
poor  fellow  went  on;  "but  I  suppose  I 
shall  get  over  it  in  time.  At  all  events,  I 
thank  you  for  your  frankness,  Miss  Rey- 
nolds. You  have  my  best  wishes  for  your 
happiness,  and — good-by !  " 

Mariette  was  sobbing  by  this  time,  so 
she  did  not  lift  her  eyes;  but  she  was 
aware  that  her  hand  was  wrung  very 
hard,  and  then  Captain  Gresham  left  the 
room,  and  was  seen  by  her  no  more. 

One  must  pay  a  price  for  everything 
in  this  world ;  and  the  price  which  Mari- 
ette paid  for  her  brief  romance  and  her 
tragically-ended  elopement  would  have 
been  esteemed,  by  most  young  ladies, 
very  heavy. 

Mariette  herself  did  not  regret  the  loss 
of  the  baronet's  son,  however.    She  was 
glad  to  be  free — glad  to  feel  that  no  one 
had  any  claim  on  her  life. 
14 


"  I  see,  now,  that  it  would  not  be  safe 
for  me  to  marry  without  love,"  she  said 
to  her  sister.  "  I  will  never,  never  make 
such  an  attempt  again — not  even  if  a 
prince  were  to  ask  the  honor  of  my  alli- 
ance." 

"  I  suppose  we  must  all  learn  wisdom 
by  experience,"  said  Mrs.  Trafford;  and, 
when  it  does  not  come  too  late,  we  ought 
to  be  thankful  to  learn  it  at  any  cost. 
Yours  has  not  come  too  late.  Some  day 
you  will  know  what  love  is,  and  then  you 
will  be  grateful  that  you  did  not  bind 
your  life  in  the  bondage  of  a  loveless 
marriage." 

"  I  am  in  no  haste  for  that  day  to  ar- 
rive," said  Mariette,  looking  meditatively 
out  over  the  wide  expanse  of  waves  wash- 
ing toward  the  land  as  the  incoming  tide 
rippled  high  on  the  beach.  "  I  have  had 
enough — more  than  enough  —of  love  and 
lovers,  to  last  me  for  many  days.  "When 
I  am  as  old  as  you  are,  perhaps  I  may 
think  again  of  such  things.  I  begin  to 
understand  why  you  have  become  so  sen- 
timental of  late,"  she  added,  with  a  smile. 
Then,  with  an  arch  look,  she  asked: 
"When  is  Hugh  coming  again?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford, while  a  blush,  brighter  than  the  sun- 
set glow,  dyed  her  face. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  conversation 
that  Hugh  came.  He  was  not  expected, 
but  Mariette  received  him  warmly,  and 
told  him  that  Mrs.  Trafford  had  gone 
down  to  the  beach. 

"  You  will  find  it  a  great  deal  pleas- 
anter  to  go  in  search  of  her  than  to  stay 
here  with  me,"  she  added,  frankly.  "  I 
am  dull  and  stupid  to  the  last  degree; 
and,  when  Amy  went  out,  I  would  not  go 
with  her.  Now  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  she 
will  have  a  better  companion." 

"  Probably  she  does  not  care  for  any 
companion,"  said  Dinsmore,  anxious  to 
go,  yet  reluctant. 

Mariette  gave  him  a  look  of  laughing 
impatience. 

"  How  foolish  you   are ! "   she   said. 


210 


AFTER   MANY  DAYS. 


"  As  if  you  do  not  know  that  Amy  will 
be  delighted  to  see  you !  Pray  go." 

"  It  is  evident  that  you  are  determined 
to  be  rid  of  me,"  he  said,  smiling ;  and, 
without  waiting  for  further  persuasion, 
he  went. 

A  path  led  from  the  village  down  the 
somewhat  steep  face  of  a  cliff  to  the  sands 
below.  As  Dinsmore  descended  this,  he 
overlooked  a  magnificent  expanse  of  sea, 
heaving  and  flashing  as  the  waves  swelled 
steadily  inward,  and  the  murmur  of  the 
tide  filled  the  air. 

There  were  a  few  figures  here  and 
there  on  the  beach,  but  he  soon  identified 
the  one  of  which  he  was  in  search — a  lady 
who  sat  alone,  watching  the  waves  as 
they  raced  backward  and  forward  and 
broke  in  sparkling  foam  on  the  sand. 

He  advanced  upon  her  from  behind, 
so  that  it  was  not  until  his  shadow  sud- 
denly fell  over  her  that  she  looked  up. 

She  was  surprised  to  see  him,  but  not 
startled,  and,  without  rising,  she  held  out 
her  hand  with  a  smile. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said. 
"How  good  of  you  to  come  and  cheer 
our  solitude!  But  perhaps  you  did  not 
come  for  that  purpose.  I  believe  you 
mentioned,  when  we  parted,  that  you  in- 
tended coming  to  Normandy  on  a  paint- 
ing-tour." 

"I  believe  I  did,"  he  answered,  sit- 
ting down  beside  her;  "but  one  may 
sometimes  combine  pleasure  and  profit. 
Just  at  present  I  cannot  say  that  painting 
is  very  much  to  my  mind.  I  have  come 
especially  to  see  how  you  and  Mariette 
are  getting  on." 

"  Thank  you !  " — and  her  eyes  echoed 
the  words ;  "  we  are  getting  on  admira- 
bly !  Have  you  not  seen  Mariette  ?  She 
is  regaining  health  and  strength  rapid- 
ly." 

"  And  health  of  mind,  I  hope,  as  well 
as  health  of  body  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  her  depression  is  vanishing, 
though  she  still  has  fits  of  self-reproach 
and  remorse.  Have  you  heard  of  the 
visitor  whom  we  had  not  long  ago  ? " 


Hugh's  face  changed.  A  certain  re- 
serve— a  kind  of  cloud — fell  over  it. 

"  No,"  he  replied ;  "  I  have  not  heard 
of  any  visitor.  It  was  Colonel  Danesford, 
probably  ? " 

She  looked  at  him  with  evident  as- 
tonishment. 

"  Colonel  Danesford !  "  she  repeated. 
"  Why  should  you  think  of  him  ?  He  has 
gone  out  of  my  life — almost  out  of  my 
thoughts.  No  ;  it  was  Stamer  Gresham 
who  came  to  see  Mariette." 

"  And  what  was  the  result  ?  " 

"  The  result  was,  that  she  told  him 
everything — foolishly,  I  thought  at  the 
time ;  but  now  I  am  not  so  sure.  There 
is  sometimes  a  saving  grace  in  frankness, 
even  when  it  can  serve  no  definite  end. 
Do  you  not  think  so  ? " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  looking  not  at 
her,  but  out  over  the  sea,  with  its  waves 
washing  up  and  down,  and  some  white 
gulls  flying  far  away.  "  We  can  never 
tell  what  definite  end  it  may  serve,"  he 
went  on,  after  a  moment.  "False  im- 
pressions may  be  removed,  wrong  ideas 
brushed  away,  by  very  simple  explana- 
tions. Do  you  remember  some  things  you 
said  to  me  when  we  were  alone  on  the 
steamer  crossing  from  Dover  to  Calais  ? 
No  doubt  they  seemed  very  simple  truths 
to  you  ;  but  to  me  they  were  revelations. 
I  found  that  I  had  been  looking  at  your 
life  and  your  motives  from  altogether  a 
wrong  point  of  view,  and  consequently 
utterly  mistaking  them." 

"  It  was  very  natural,"  she  said,  as  he 
paused — "I  mean  with  regard  to  my 
motives.  With  regard  to  my  life,  I  am 
not  sure  that  you  were  mistaken  in  your 
estimate  of  it.  I  have  had  time  for  se- 
rious reflections  here — the  first  in  ten 
years;  and,  in  looking  back,  I  see  little 
to  fill  me  with  satisfaction.  My  triumphs 
have  been  very  empty,  and  my  pleasures 
have  often  left  a  bitter  taste  behind. 
When  I  was  a  girl,  my  ambition,  as  you 
may  remember,  was  boundless.  By  the 
most  extraordinary  turn  of  Fortune's 
wheel,  I  was  placed  in  a  position  to  grat- 


•AFTER  LONG   GRIEF   AND  PAIN." 


211 


ify  that  ambition  to  its  utmost,  and  I 
have  done  so.  Conquest,  homage,  ad- 
miration, wealth,  and  leisure,  have  been 
mine ;  and  what  is  the  end  ?  Why,  weari- 
ness of  the  soul  and  of  the  spirits,  and  a 
longing,  which  I  can  hardly  restrain,  to 
return  to  the  simpler  forms  of  life." 

"  In  which  you  would  not  be  content- 
ed for  an  hour !  "  said  Hugh,  calmly. 
"  Do  yon  know  why  it  is  that  the  life 
you  have  lived  for  several  years  does  not 
satisfy  you,  as  it  satisfies  other  women? 
I  can  tell  you  in  a  few  words :  you  have 
both  a  mind  and  a  heart,  and  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other  has  had  any  play  what- 
ever. Your  intellectual  culture  has  been 
fitful  and  superficial,  and  your  affections, 
except  with  regard  to  Mariette,  have  lain 
absolutely  dormant.  Consequently,  both 
intellect  and  heart  have  risen  in  revolt." 

She  smiled  faintly,  and  a  little  sadly. 

"  Your  diagnosis  may  be  correct,"  she 
said.  "  I  do  not  know.  But  a  physician 
does  not  content  himself  with  naming  a 
malady ;  he  also  prescribes  the  remedy." 

Hugh  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly. 

"  He  should  be  certian  of  his  skill  be- 
fore attempting  to  do  so.  I  may  be  en- 
tirely mistaken.  I  have  grown  more 
diffident  of  my  judgment.  Modesty  is 
a  good  thing  to  cultivate,  even  at  a  very 
late  day.  Besides,  I  think  that  I  have 
played  lecturer  often  enough,  Mrs.  Traf- 
ford.  You  have  been  very  good  to  tol- 
erate my  presumption  so  long;  but 
now — " 

"Now  you  are  going  to  cease  speak- 
ing truth  to  me — you,  the  only  person  in 
the  world  who  does  speak  it !  "  she  said, 
as  he  broke  off  abruptly.  "I  am  not 
sure  that  I  care  for  your  newly-found 
good  opinion,  if  this  is  the  result !  " 

"  Why  should  you  care  for  it  in  any 
event? "  he  asked,  turning  on  her  almost 
angrily.  "It  could  only  be  for  one 
reason;  and  surely  it  would  be  a  poor 
triumph  to  draw  such  a  man  as  I  am  to 
your  feet ! " 

The  color  mounted  swiftly  into  her 
cheeks,  but  her  self-control  was  admi- 


rable ;  and,  when  he  rose  impetuously  to 
his  feet,  she  also  rose  and  confronted 
him. 

"So  you  do  me  injustice  even  yet, 
Hugh !  "  she  said,  gently.  "  Nothing  has 
been  further  from  my  thoughts  than  the 
idea  of  drawing  you  to  my  feet.  I  am 
not  blind,  nor  hopelessly  obtuse.  I  have 
comprehended  your  dislike — I  might  al- 
most say,  your  contempt ;  and,  now  that 
you  are  beginning  to  regard  me  with 
justice  and  kindlier  feelings,  I  only  hope 
to  find  in  you  my  old  friend." 

"Who  never  was  your  friend,  but 
always  your  lover !  "  said  he,  hoarsely. 
"  I  see  it  is  useless,  Amy ;  I  cannot  play 
the  part  I  thought  I  could.  When  a  man 
has  loved  .one  woman  all  his  life,  he  can- 
not hope  to  forget  her  at  my  age.  I  must 
love  you  to  the  end,  I  suppose.  But  I 
cannot,  I  will  not  surrender  all  serenity 
of  mind,  all  power  of  labor,  on  account 
of  such  an  infatuation,  and  therefore  it  is 
necessary  that  my  path  of  life  should  be 
apart  from  yours.  Try  and  forgive  this 
outburst.  I  believe  that  I  have  done  you 
injustice,  and  that  you  did  not  deserve 
it.  Shall  I  leave  you  now  ?  Perhaps  it 
will  be  best." 

He  turned  quickly,  and  had  taken 
half  a  dozen  steps  on  the  sand,  when  her 
dress  rustled  by  his  side  and  her  hand 
touched  his  arm.  Fortunately,  they  were 
almost  entirely  alone.  The  other  figures 
had  dispersed  in  different  directions; 
only  far  down  the  beach  a  fisherman  sat 
on  an  upturned  boat,  mending  same  nets. 

At  that  touch,  light  and  soft  as  it  was, 
Dinsmore  looked  round,  and  the  expres- 
sion of  the  face  which  met  his  gaze  made 
him  stand  motionless.  Was  he  mad,  or 
dreaming?  What  was  this  tender  radi- 
ance on  the  fair  outlines  which  he  had 
known  so  long  and  loved  so  well? 

"  Amy  !  "  he  cried,  incredulously. 

"I  have  learned  many  lessons  in  my 
life,  Hugh,"  said  Amy,  with  that  supreme 
quietness  which  sometimes  comes  when 
the  height  of  emotion  has  been  reached  • 
"but  the  chief  of  them  is  this:  that 


212 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


earth  holds  nothing  better  than  the  love 
of  one  brave,  honest,  constant  heart  like 
yours;  and  if  you  can  forgive  me — if, 
after  all  these  years,  you  can  care  for  a 
heart  like  mine — " 

"  If  I  care !  "  he  repeated,  clasping 
her  hand  in  a  vise-like  grasp.    "  Amy,  it 


cannot  be  that  you  mean  that  it  is  mine 
at  last  ? " 

"  It  is  yours  at  last !  "  she  answered. 

And  what  could  Hugh  do,  but  take 
her  in  his  arms,  and  thank  God,  who  had 
granted  him  this  crowning  gift  of  his  life 
— after  many  days ! 


THE      END, 


POPULAR  WORKS  OF  FICTION 


PUBLISHED   BY 


D.    APPLETON    &    CO., 

549  &  551  Broadway,  New  York 


APPLETONS'  ILLUSTRATED  LIBRARY  OF  ROMANCE. 

In  Uniform  Octavo  Volumes, 
Handsomely  illustrated,  and  bound  either  in  paper  covers  or  in  mztslin. 


Price,  in  Paper,  $1.00;  in  Cloth,  $1.50. 


In  this  series  of  Romances  are  included  the  famous  novels  of  LOUISA  MfJHL- 
BACH.  Since  the  time  when  Sir  Walter  Scott  produced  so  profound  a  sensation  in 
the  reading- world,  no  historical  novels  have  achieved  a  success  so  great  as  those  from 
the  pen  of  LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 

1.  TOO  STRANGE  NOT  TO  BE  TRUE.    A  Novel.    By  Lady  GEORGIANS  FULLERTON. 

2.  THE  CLEVER  WOMAN  OF  THE  FAMILY.     By  Miss  YONGE,  author  of  "The  Heir  of  Red- 

clyffe,"  "Heartsease,"  etc. 

3.  JOSEPH  II.  AND  HIS  COURT.    By  LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 

4.  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT- AND  HIS  COURT.     By  LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 

5.  BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI;  or,  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS.    By 

LOUISA   MttHLBACH. 

6.  THE  MERCHANT  OF  BERLIN.     By  LOUISA' MUHLBACH. 

7.  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  HIS  FAMILY.     By  LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 

8.  HENRY  VIII.  AND  CATHARINE  PARR.     By  LOUISA  MUHLBACH 

9.  LOUISA  OF  PRUSSIA  AND  HER  TIMES.     By  LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 

0.  MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  HER  SON.     By  LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 

1.  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  AN  EMPRESS.     By  LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 

2.  NAPOLEON  AND  THE  QUEEN  OF  PRUSSIA.     By  LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 

3.  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE.     By  LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 

4.  NAPOLEON  AND  BLUCHF.R.    An  Historical  Romance.    By  LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 

5.  COUNT  MIRABEAU.    An  Historical  Novel.    By  THKODOR  MUNDT. 

6.  A  STORMY  LIFE.    A  Novel.    By  Lady  GEORGIANA  FULLERTON,  author  of  "Too  Strange  not  to 

be  True." 

7.  OLD  FRITZ  AND  THE  NEW  ERA.    By  LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 

8.  ANDREAS  HOFER.     By  LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 

9.  DORA.    By  JULIA  KAVANAGH. 

0.  JOHN  MILTON  AND  HIS  TIMES.    By  MAX  RING. 

1.  BEAUMARCHAIS.    An  Historical  Tale.     By  A.  E.  BRACHVOGBI. 

2.  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER.    By  LOUISA  MUHLBAOH. 
83.  A  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.    By  Miss  YONGB. 


D.  Appleton  6°  Company's  Publications. 


GRACE  AGUILAR. 


HOME  INFLUENCE.    12010.    Cloth,  $1.00. 
MOTHER'S    RECOMPENSE.      i2mo.     Cloth, 

$1.00. 
HOME   SCENES   AND    HEART   STUDIES. 

12010.     Cloth,  $1.00.  ' 


DAYS  OF  BRUCE.  2  vols.  ismo.  Cloth,  $2.00. 
WOMAN'S  FRIENDSHIP.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.00. 
WOMEN  OF  ISRAEL.  2  vols.  lamo.  Cloth, 

$2.00. 
VALE  OF  CEDARS.    i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.00. 


whii 


"  Grace  Aguilar's  works  possess  attractions  which  will  always  place  them  among  the  standard  writings 
ich  no  library  can  be  without     '  Mother's  Recompense '  and  '  Woman's  Friendship '  should  be  read  by 


both  young  and  old." 


RHODA  BROUGHTON'S  NOVELS, 


COMETH  UP  AS  A  FLOWER.    12010.    Cloth,  $1.50.    Cheap  edition,  8vo,  paper  covers,  60  cents. 
NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL.     Library  edition,  12010,  $1.50.     8vo,  paper  covers,  60  cents. 
NANCY.     i2ino.    Cloth,  $1.50.     Paper  covers,  8vo,  75  cents. 
GOOD-BYE,  SWEETHEART !      Library  edition,  i2mo,  $1.50.     Cheap  edition,  8vo,  paper  covers, 

75  cents. 
RED  AS  A   ROSE  IS  SHE.     Library  edition,  i2mo,  cloth,  $1.50.     Cheap  edition,  8vo,  paper  covers, 

60  cents. 
JOAN.    Cheap  edition,  i  vel.,  8vo,  paper  covers,  75  cents. 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER'S  NOVELS, 

New  Library  Edition.    Well  printed,  and  bound  in  handsome  style.    Complete  in  32  vols.    izmo. 


Per  vol.,  $1.50. 

1.  THE  SPY. 

2.  THE  PILOT. 

3.  RED  ROVER. 

4.  THE  DEERSLAYER. 

5.  THE  PATHFINDER. 

6.  LAST  OF  THE  MOHICANS. 

7.  THE  PIONEERS. 

8.  THE  PRAIRIE. 

9.  LIONEL  LINCOLN. 

0.  WEPT  OF  WISH-TON-WISH. 

1.  THE  WATER-WITCH. 

2.  THE  BRAVO. 

3.  MERCEDES  OF  CASTILE. 

4.  THE  TWO  ADMIRALS. 
;.  AFLOAT  AND  ASHORE. 
6.  MILES  WALLINGFORD. 


17.  WING-AND-WING. 

18.  OAK  OPENINGS. 

19.  SATANSTOE. 

20.  THE  CHAIN-BEARER. 

21.  THE  RED-SKINS. 

22.  THE  CRATER. 

23.  HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

24.  HOME  AS  FOUND. 

25.  HEIDENMAUER. 

26.  THE  HEADSMAN. 

27.  JACK  TIER. 

28.  THE  SEA  LIONS. 

29.  WYANDOTTE. 

30.  THE  MON1KINS. 

31.  PRECAUTION. 

32.  WAYS  OF  THE  HOUR. 


LEATHER-STOCKING   TALES. 

A  New  Edition.     8vo.     Illustrated  by  Darley.    Paper  covers,  75  cents  each ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

I.  THE  LAST  OF  THE  MOHICANS. 

IT.  THE  DEF.RSLAYER.  IV.   THE  PIONEERS. 

III.  THE  PATHFINDER.  V.   THE  PRAIRIE. 

The  same,  in  i  vol.,  cloth,  $4.00;  sheep,  $5.00;  half  morocco,  $6.50. 

THE    SEA-TALES. 

A  New  8vo  Edition.     Illustrated  by  Darley.     Paper  covers,  75  cents  each ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

I.  THE  PILOT. 

II.  THE  RED  ROVER.  IV.   WING-AND-WING. 

III.   THE  WATER-WITCH.  V.  THE  TWO  ADMIRALS. 

The  same,  in  i  vol.,  cloth,  $4.00;  sheep,  $5.00;  half  morocco,  $6.50. 


D.  Appleton  c^  Company's  Publications. 


CHARLES  DICKENS. 

The  Cheap  Popular  Edition  of  the  Works  of  Charles  Dickens.     Clear  type, 

handsomely  printed,  and  of  convenient  size.     18  vols.,  8vo.     Paper. 


Pages.  Cts. 

OLIVER  TWIST '..172.. 25 

AMERICAN  NOTES 104. .15 

DOMBEY  &  SON 356-35 

MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT 342--3S 

OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND 330. .35 

CHRISTMAS  STORIES 162.. 25 

TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES 144. .20 

HARD    TIMES,    and     ADDITIONAL 

CHRISTMAS  STORIES 200.. 25 

BLEAK  HOUSE 340.. 35 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 

LITTLE  DORRIT 

PICKWICK  PAPERS 

DAVID  COPPERFIELD 

BARNABY  RUDGE 

OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP 221. .30 

SKETCHES 196..  25 

GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 184.. 25 

UNCOMMERCIAL  TRAVELLER,  PIC- 

TURES  FROM  ITALY,  etc 300.. 35 


Pages.  Cts. 

340. .35 

330. .35 

326. .35 

351. .35 

237. .30 


The  Complete  Popular  Library  Edition.  Handsomely  printed  in  good,  clear 
type.  Illustrated  with  32  Engravings,  and  a  Steel-plate  Portrait  of  the  Author. 
6  vols.,  small  8vo.  Cloth,  extra,  $10.50. 

Chapman  &  Hall's  Household  Edition  of  Charles  Dickens's  Works. 

Volumes  already  published: 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  Cloth,  $1.25;  pa- 
per, 75  cents. 

OLIVER  TWIST.    Cloth,  $1.25;  paper,  75  cents. 

TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES.  Cloth,  $1.25;  paper, 
75  cents. 

MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT.  Cloth,  $1.75;  pa- 
per, $1.25. 

BLEAK  HOUSE.     Cloth,  $1.75;  paper,  $1.25. 

DAVID  COPPERFIELD.  Cloth,  $1.75;  paper, 
$1.25. 

LITTLE  DORRIT.    Cloth,  $1.75;  paper,  $1.25. 


PICKWICK  PAPERS.  Cloth,  $1.75;  paper, 
$1.25. 

BARNABY  RUDGE.  Cloth,  $1.75;  paper,  $1.25. 

OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND.  Cloth,  $1.75;  pa- 
per, $1.25. 

NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  Cloth,  $1.75;  paper, 
$1.25. 

OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP.  Cloth,  $1.50;  pa- 
per, $1.00. 

SKETCHES  BY  BOZ.  Cloth,  $1.50;  paper,  $1.00. 

HARD  TIMES.     Cloth,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 


D'lSRAELI'S  NOVELS, 


LOTHAIR.     A  Novel.     I2mo.    Cloth,  $2.00. 

Cheap  edition.     8vo.     Paper,  fi.oo. 
HENRIETTA  TEMPLE.    8vo.   Paper,  50  cents. 
VENETIA.     8vo.     Paper,  50  cents. 
THE  YOUNG  DUKE.    8vo.    Paper,  50  cents. 
ALROY.     8vo.     Paper,  50  cents. 


FLEMING.       8vo.      Paper,    50 


CONTARINI 

cents. 

VIVIAN  GREY.     8vo.     Paper,  60  cents. 
CONINGSBY.     8vo.     Paper,  60  cents. 
TANCRED ;  or,  The  New  Crusade.    8vo.    Paper, 

50  cents. 


JULIA  KAVANAGH. 


ADELE;  a  Tale,    i  vol.,  i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.25. 
BEATRICE.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 
DAISY  BURNS.    i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.25. 
GRACE  LEE.     121110.     Cloth,  $1.25. 
MADELINE.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 
NATHALIE;  a  Tale.     i2mo.     Cloth,  ^1.25. 
RACHEL  GREY.    i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.25. 
SEVEN  YEARS,  and  Other  Tales.    i2mo.   Cloth, 

$1.25. 
SYBIL'S  SECOND  LOVE.    ismo.    Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  There  is  a  quiet  power  in  the  writings  of  this 
tional  school  as  any  modern  novels  can  be." 


,  QUEEN  MAB.     i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.25. 

'  JOHN  DORRIEN.    i  vol.,  121110.    Cloth,  $1.25. 

The  above  vols.,  in  a  neat  box,  $13.75. 
THE  TWO  LILIES,  i  vol.,  i2mo.  $1.50. 
WOMEN  OF  CHRISTIANITY,  Exemplary  for 

Piety  and  Charity.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 
DORA.     Illustrated  by  Gaston  Fay.     i  vol.,  £vo. 

Cloth,  $1.50;  paper,  $1.00. 
SILVIA.     A  Novel.    8vo.    Paper,  75  cents. 
BESSIE.    A  Novel.     8vo.     Paper,  75  cents. 
gifted  author  which  is  as  far  removed  from  the  sensa- 


D.  Appkton  6*  Company's  Publications. 


HELEN  B.  MATHER'S  NOVELS. 

COMIN'  THRO'  THE  RYE.    i  vol.,  8vo.     Pa-  I  CHERRY  RIPE.    A  Novel,    i  vol.,  8vo.    Paper 
per  covers,  75  cents.  I         covers.     (In press.) 

"There  is  a  great  deal  of  power  in  'Comin'  thro'  the  Rye.'  The  heroine  grows  up  before  our  eyes 
from  the  'tomboy'  of  girlishness  to  an  excellent  specimen  of  loving  and  truthful  womanhood." — Morn- 
ing Post. 

MARIA  J.  MACINTOSH. 


AUNT  KITTY'S  TALES.    i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.00. 
CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS.  i2mo. 

Cloth,  $1.25. 
TWO  PICTURES;  or,  How  We  See  Ourselves, 

and  Ho\v  the  World  Sees  Us.     i  vol.,  121:10. 

Cloth,  $1.50. 


EVENINGS  AT  DONALDSON  MANOR,     i 

vol.,  i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 
TWO  LIVES;  or,  To  Seem  and  To  Be.     i2mo. 

Cloth,  $1.00. 
THE  LOFTY  AND  LOWLY.     2  vols.,   i2mo. 

Cloth,  $1.50. 


"  Miss  Macintosh  is  one  of  the  best  of  the  female  writers-of  the  day.  Her  stories  are  always  full  of  les- 
sons of  truth,  and  purity,  and  goodness — of  that  serene  and  gentle  wisdom  which  comes  from  no  source  so 
fitly  as  from  a  refined  and  Christian  woman." 

ALICE  B.  HAVEN. 

THE  COOPERS;  or,  Getting  Under  Way.     A  I  LOSS   AND   GAIN;    or,  Margaret's  Home,      i 
Tale  of  Real  Life,     i  vol.,  12010.     Cloth,  fi.oo.  |          vol.,  izmo.     Cloth,  fi.oo. 

The  lamented  Cousin  Alice,  better  known  as  the  author  of  numerous  juvenile  works  of  a  popular 
character,  wrote  only  two  works  of  fiction,  which  evidence  that  she  would  have  met  with  equal  success  in 
that  walk  of  literature.  They  both  bear  the  impress  of  a  mind  whose  purity  was  proverbial. 

CAPTAIN  MARRYAT. 

Marry  at' S  Popular   Novels  and  Tales.       A  new  and  beautiful  edition.    12  vols., 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $12.00.     Or  separately: 
PETER  SIMPLE.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $i  oo. 
JACOB  FAITHFUL,     izmo.     Cloth,  fi.oo. 
NAVAL  OFFICER.     12010.     Cloth,  $1.00. 
KING'S  OWN.     i2mo.     Cloth,  fi.oo. 
JAPHET  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  FATHER,  izrao. 

Cloth,  $1.00. 
NEWTON  FORSTER.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 


MIDSHIPMAN  EASY.    i2tno.    Cloth,  $i  oo. 
PACHA  OF   MANY   TALES,      izmo.     Cloth, 


51.00. 


THE  POACHER.     lamo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 
THE  PHANTOM  SHIP.     i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.00. 
SNARLEYOW.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 
PERCIVAL  KEENE.    i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.00. 


Fine  edition,  printed  on  tinted  paper.     12  vols.,  large  I2mo.     Cloth,  $18.00;    half 
calf,  extra,  $36.00. 

The  Cheap  Popular  Edition  of  Marryat's  Novels.     Complete  in  12  volumes. 

Price  per  volume,  50  cents. 

"  Captain  Marryat  is  a  classic  among  novel-writers.  A  better  idea  may  be  had  of  the  sea,  and  of  ship- 
life,  especially  in  the  navy,  from  these  enchanting  books,  than  from  any  other  source.  They  will  continue 
to  be  read  as  long  as  the  language  exists." 

MISS  JANE  PORTER. 

SCOTTISH  CHIEFS.     A  Romance.     New  and  handsome  edition.     With  Engravings,    i  vol.  large 
8vo.     Cloth,  $2.50;  half  calf,  extra,  $4.00. 

The  great  popularity  of  this  novel  has  rendered  it  necessary  to  furnish  this  handsome  edition  in  large, 
readable  type,  with  appropriate  embellishments,  for  the  domestic  library. 


- 


